


everything i write turns into a body

by SydneyHorses



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, M/M, Pining, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Slow Burn, all the black eagles are in this i just. didnt want to tag everyone, background edeleth if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-24 17:02:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 27,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21981376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SydneyHorses/pseuds/SydneyHorses
Summary: If Ferdinand von Aegir has been asked five years ago what he was going to be when he grew up, his answer would not take more than a second’s thought. Now, he’s just hoping to live to see the next day. Edelgard’s cause is just, but her war is long, and there is no end in sight. Through it all, with the same unchanging expression and grim determination, is Hubert. It’s nice, to have one thing that stays the same.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra
Comments: 85
Kudos: 416





	1. Ethereal Moon

**Author's Note:**

> here it is!! this fic has been my baby for the past month or so, and i'm super excited to be posting it! it's my first fire emblem fic and my first time writing hubert and ferdie, so please let me know what you think! at this point the fic is mostly written - updates will be posted every Friday!
> 
> special thanks to anna, for complaining about writing introduction paragraphs and saying the really raw phrase "everything I write turns into a body," which snowballed into this fic. you're the best beta reader ever and this literally wouldn't exist without you!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Ah, so I may ignore you as much as I please then?” Ferdinand says, leaning back in his chair. “I wish I had known that back at the academy.”
> 
> Hubert laughs, and Ferdinand finds himself wondering how Bernadetta could have ever found it terrifying. “You couldn’t ignore me if you tried.”

The truth of it is that they are losing the war. The truth of it is that Ferdinand cannot bring himself to care. The last five years since that night in the cathedral have been exhausting in ways he could not ever have anticipated as a boy. They’re at a stalemate with Dmitri chomping at the bit on one side and Claude on the other, cunning and ready to seize any opportunity to tip things in the Alliance’s favor.

His father is on house arrest no matter the outcome of the war, his future remains precarious. Some days it seems easier to fall in battle than to have to sort out the mess of his fortunes - then he’ll at least be remembered as some sort of hero.

“Ferdinand,” Hubert says, drawing him out of his reverie.

Ferdinand shakes his head and smiles, “Ah, excuse me. I fear my skills as a teatime companion are lacking today.” Ferdinand isn’t sure when it became habitual to make time for tea with Hubert in his weekly schedule. The last five years have been long and difficult, and his friends have changed so much. Hubert has become a sort of anchor for them all, he supposes. He’s changed too, of course, but less noticeably.. Hubert is… safe. Reassuring. Something that they have all grown used to leaning on from time to time.

“Hm,” Hubert says, taking a swig of his coffee. “I have never been one for tea in general, so I suppose I can let it slide.”

The tilt of Hubert’s head betrays his teasing, distracting Ferdinand from his dark thoughts. At the very least, moments like these have come from the war. “Oh? The emperor’s shadow is feeling generous today, I see. I appreciate you not cutting my heart out and offering it to Edelgard as a penalty for my lack of attention.”

Hubert’s mouth quirks, “That would only be necessary if you were to ignore Lady Edelgard.”

“Ah, so I may ignore you as much as I please then?” Ferdinand says, leaning back in his chair. “I wish I had known that back at the academy.”

Hubert laughs, and Ferdinand finds himself wondering how Bernadetta could have ever found it terrifying. “You couldn’t ignore me if you tried.”

Ferdinand does not deign to respond. He can recognize bait when he hears it, after all. Well, he can recognize it most of the time.

“Hubert!” Edelgard cries, running over to them. There’s a flush to her cheeks and a wild look in her eyes - no concern for appearances at all.

Across from him, Hubert jolts to his feet, bowing stiffly. “Lady Edelgard. Is something the matter? I-”

“Hubert she’s _back_ ,” Edelgard says, her voice thick with emotion. Ferdinand has never seen such unrestrained happiness on her face before; it makes her look so very young. Edelgard, stopped in front of them, clenches her fists at her sides, face still clear with joy. “The professor’s back.”

-

There has not been this much hope in the air at Garegg Mach Monastery since before the war began. It’s contagious; Ferdinand is drunk on it. A small party, Edelgard had said, just something to celebrate them all having lived long enough to see Byleth again. And it _is_ small, just the original Black Eagles holed up in the common room on the second floor, none of the generals or other members of the Imperial army.

Edelgard sits pressed against the professor’s side, smiling so wide her cheeks must ache. Ferdinand does not think she has left it all night - he keeps catching her staring at Byleth, like the woman will vanish if not kept under constant surveillance.

He understands the feeling. The professor’s return feels too fortuitous to be true. He keeps expecting this to be a dream, for the smiles on everyone’s faces to melt away. Every minute that passes drives home the truth of the matter a little bit more, but he is not sure that he’ll ever truly believe it.

It’s late in the evening and he cannot tell if it’s the wine or the excitement that’s getting to everyone. Dorothea is more lively than she’s been in years and Linhardt has managed to stay awake the whole gathering. Even Hubert seems pleased. He hasn’t expressed it as outwardly as the rest of them, but Ferdinand saw him touch the professor’s arm earlier and lean in to whisper something in her ear.

“Reflecting, von Aegir?” Hubert says, sitting down in the chair next to him and breaking him out of his reverie. “That’s quite unlike you.”

Ferdinand laughs, “And I could swear that I saw you smile when Edelgard presented the professor. What is happening to us?”

Hubert looks at him for a long moment, “Who can say.”

The expression on Hubert’s face is… strange. He’s smiling, almost imperceptibly, but there’s a tightness to his eyes that suggests he’s still on guard against something. Ferdinand doesn’t know what it means. Ferdinand takes a sip from his wine glass, turning his attention back to the festivities. Dorothea is at the front of the room singing, and it has been so long since he’s seen an opera. The common room isn’t very large, especially with all of the Black Eagles in it, and her voice fills the whole room easily. After Dorothea’s sung a few songs, Petra jumps to her feet, rushing to the front of the room and grabbing Dorothea’s hands excitedly. Her voice falters as Petra begins to lead her in a dance, and never quite recovers as she attempts to sing and dance at the same time. As lovely as she’d sounded, Ferdinand prefers her this way, laughing so hard that she can barely get any of the notes in her aria out. Caspar cackles, and there’s a smile on Linhardt’s face that Ferdinand has not seen in far, far too long. Edelgard is laughing, her eyes bright and shining like a girl’s again. Bernadetta sits in the corner by herself, but there’s a flush to her cheeks and a tentative smile on her face.

As these things go, it’s not much of a party, but Ferdinand is thankful for it nonetheless. He turns to look at Hubert again, taking in the angles of his face. War has not been kind to Hubert: his eyes are sunken and his mouth is thin. Even so, there is a lightness to his eyes that Ferdinand had not even realized was missing. Hubert needed the professor’s return just as much as the rest of them.

“This still does not feel entirely real,” Ferdinand says.

Hubert nods, “I thought it was a trick, at first. Some clever disguise meant to throw us off in order to assassinate Lady Edelgard.”

He would mock Hubert for his paranoia, but it almost seems more likely than the truth. “But you think it is truly her?”

A pause, and then Hubert nods. “I questioned her. She knew things others would not, remembered private conversations between the two of us.”

Ferdinand turns his gaze to where the professor and Edelgard sit. Edelgard is talking, animatedly, and Byleth nods slowly, cupping her chin in her hand. It’s unthinkable that someone else would be able to imitate the professor’s mannerisms so accurately. “So you are convinced?”

“I am,” Hubert replies. “Are you?”

Dorothea breaks away from Petra and rushes over to the professor, taking her by the hand. Byleth shakes her head mutely, but Dorothea laughs loudly and ignores her, pulling her to her feet. “I think so,” Ferdinand says. “It will take some time for me to feel secure with the knowledge. Regardless, I am pleased that she is back.”

“As am I,” Hubert answers. 

Dorothea and the professor have started dancing, Petra having pulled Edelgard to her feet as well. “I must get going,” Hubert says. “They will doubtlessly try to have me dance, and I have work I should finish before the day’s end.” 

Ferdinand does not want him to leave. “I should go as well.”

Hubert smirks, “Oh? But I thought you loved to dance?”

“I also have work that needs doing,” Ferdinand says, squaring his shoulders. He’s not sure if Hubert believes him, but he at least doesn’t question him further.

“I see,” Hubert says.

“I will probably finish up my reports over a cup of tea,” Ferdinand says. He’s had just a little too much to drink and doesn’t want to be alone; that is surely the reason why he is so desperate to stay in Hubert’s company a little longer. “Would you care to join me?”

Again, there is that strange look in Hubert’s eye. “I suppose it is too late for coffee. Very well.” He turns and catches Edelgard’s eye across the room, bowing stiffly with one arm behind his back before turning and walking away, barely waiting for Ferdinand at all. How Hubert managed to convey his intentions to her so swiftly, with no spoken words at all, Ferdinand does not know, but he does not doubt Edelgard would be able to find them in an instant if needed. He pulls his cloak tighter around himself and follows Hubert out of the room.

-

Their celebrations do not last as long as any of them would like. Dorothea jokes about their temporary show of happiness as she knocks her shoulder against Hubert’s, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She used to smile so easily, and now Ferdinand wishes he knew a way to make it so once more. 

With the professor back, everyone’s dedication to the war effort has increased tenfold. Troops already prepare to mobilize, and the professor and the rest of the Black Eagle Strike Force have been hammering out last minute plans for their next attack. They’re set to leave in the morning and Ferdinand is already filled with the same sort of anticipation he gets before every battle. It’s not nerves, but the thrumming in his veins and restlessness in his limbs hints at something akin to them. Preparations are always afoot the day before they leave, and throughout it all Ferdinand is always intimately aware that this could be the last time he ever sees the monastery. Amongst it all though, Edelgard is steely, a sea of calm in the chaos. Hubert stands at her side, ever the same. Even here, with all of the strike force crowded around their war table, the two of them are unreadable. 

“Ferdinand, how have arrangements for the cavalry been coming?” Edelgard, as always, sounds like she has never doubted any of this. Of course she hasn’t; she’s been planning this war since she was a child.

“Morale is up.” Ferdinand says,“Some of the soldiers had begun to have… doubts, as of late. Nothing of any significance, but there were worries that the war would not progress past the stalemate.” He is underselling the morale problems slightly, but there isn’t any point in worrying her over something already in the past. Besides, Ferdinand sympathizes with the troops and their uncertainty. He supports Edelgard wholeheartedly, of course, but he has had his moments of doubt as well. They were small, private moments, never shared with anyone, but they have still plagued him. Now though, having seen Edelgard’s glory and success in battle and with the tide of the war finally starting to change, he can’t help but hope that he’d banished his doubts for good.

“That’s good to hear.” Edelgard says distantly, her gaze sweeping over the battle map. At her side, Byleth nods, her face unreadable. He wishes he had her talent for concealing expressions; he is far too quick to show emotion.

“Once the Bridge of Myrddin is under our control, we are free to go after Derdriu,” Hubert says. “The sooner we deal with the Alliance, the better.” He steps closer to the table, pushing one of their units over to the bridge. “Judith von Daphnel is a formidable foe. We’ll have to strike quickly and focus our efforts on her before she can summon reinforcements or attempt to outmaneuver us.”

Byleth nods again, then gestures for the rest of the table to look towards the map, opening her palm towards the ceiling, “We could have a small, fast team run up the side of the battlefield to create a diversion.”

Edelgard taps one of her nails on the table, “They would likely focus their efforts there instead of the bulk of our forces, who could then march up unobstructed and attack Judith head on.”

Hubert steps aside to let the professor rearrange some of their units, and for some reason - Goddess knows why - he steps to the left, directly into Ferdinand’s space, instead of back to his spot at Edelgard’s side. Ferdinand cannot recall Hubert ever being this close to him, except maybe to yell at him. None of the others seem to take any notice of it, not even Hubert himself - this close, Ferdinand can see the fine, short hairs on the back of Hubert’s neck. It’s odd that he’s staring, surely, but he can’t stop himself. Hubert takes such better care of his hair now than he did in their academy days, and Ferdinand has an inane desire to reach out and lay his hand on the back of Hubert’s neck. He lets himself indulge in the fantasy of that not being out of the question for just a moment: he’d rest his hand there, swirl his fingers in the hair at the nape of Hubert’s neck. Ferdinand jerks his gaze away from the back of Hubert’s neck, his face burning. He has no idea what has come over him, and he would really rather not dwell on it.

The professor steps back, leaving plenty of room for Hubert to step away from him, but he doesn’t. Instead, he turns back towards the table, still far too close for comfort. All he can think about is the few centimeters of space between their bodies. It’s almost as if he can feel the heat coming off of Hubert’s body. He wants to tell Hubert to - to something. He needs to tell Hubert to move. He needs to tell Hubert to step away. He needs to tell Hubert to make up his mind and stop being so distracting.

Hubert moves.

He turns back towards the war table, but in doing so his shoulder presses against Ferdinand’s. Ferdinand’s heart is in his throat, and for no good reason. Hubert has surely touched him before, hasn’t he? Goddess, is this all it takes to drive him to distraction these days? He shakes his head, trying to refocus.

“Yes, Ferdinand?” Edelgard says, stopping mid-sentence. “You disagree?”

He was so focused on the gentle press of Hubert’s shoulder against his that he has completely missed whatever Edelgard was saying. In vain, he tries to come up with anything passingly intelligent to say, but it’s no use. 

“Disregard it,” he says, “I have no meaningful complaints. I am simply concerned about fighting Judith. I know this will be a difficult battle.”

Edelgard nods, although he can’t tell if she bought that or not. To her right, Byleth raises an eyebrow but doesn’t remark on his non-answer. Ferdinand tightens his grip on the table. He is going to focus for the rest of the meeting. He is not going to think about the warmth from Hubert’s body that is slowly seeping into his bones, making a home there.

Hubert doesn’t move for the rest of the meeting, and Ferdinand never quite manages to regain his composure. It was such a simple gesture, but any expression of sentimentality (if this could even be called that) from Hubert feels more significant than affection from the others.

“Alright,” Edelgard says at last, sweeping a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I think that’s a solid plan for the battle. We’ll depart in the morning. Try and get some rest before then.” She turns and walks out of the room, Hubert a half-step behind her, as usual.

Ferdinand turns to leave, his thoughts still lingering on Hubert. As he heads towards his room, Byleth falls into step beside him.

“You’ll be focused on the battlefield, won’t you?” she says.

Ferdinand straightens his back, trying not to let his embarrassment show. He’s always been taller than their professor but goodness, he looms over her now. It’s unsettling; to think that he’s grown and changed and she looks exactly the same as she did the last time he saw her. “I am always focused when we are fighting,” he says. “I am Ferdinand von Aegir, legitimate heir of House Aegir, and I do not get distracted during battles!”

Declaring himself the legitimate heir of House Aegir no longer has the same ring to it, nor does it produce the same slight smile it used to in Byleth. Instead, it reminds him of his father, still on house arrest and stripped of his titles. He is no longer the heir to anything at all, nor is his name something to be proud of.

“Just be careful,” the professor says at last, once the two of them have reached the door to his room. “I want all of you to live to see the end of this war.”

Ferdinand squeezes the professor’s hands and musters up the most convincing smile he can. It had not truly occurred to him that the professor would need reassurance as well. “We will, I promise. I will see you in the morning.”


	2. Guardian Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If I were injured, I doubt I would be darkening your doorstep at this hour.”
> 
> Hubert sighs, but there is no malice behind it. “I think you will darken my doorstep as often as you like with no regard for my own opinion.”
> 
> “Do you wish me to leave?”
> 
> The scratch of Hubert’s quill stops for a moment. “I don’t care what you do.”

The first time the professor asks Ferdinand to tea, it’s mere days after Myrddin. Byleth has barely been back for a fortnight. He doesn’t know why he’s surprised - one of the professor’s favorite activities is teatime, and she’s only grown bolder in the number of teas she’s willing to take per day. He adores tea, truly, but he has seen her take tea separately with every one of the Black Eagles all in the span of one day. How she does it, he has no idea.

Now sitting across from her at one of the tables, he feels like he is eighteen again, back at the academy and wanting nothing more than the professor to pay as much attention to him as she does to Edelgard.

“How have you been adjusting back to life at the monastery professor?”

Byleth breaks her biscuit in half and dips a section in her tea before popping it in her mouth. “The pond is still well-stocked,” she says, which isn’t really much of an answer, although it is rather typical of her. Of course the first thing she concerns herself with after seeing that they’re all alive and well is that damned pond.

He shakes his head, “Is that pond all you care about?”

She tilts her head to the side slightly. It’s unnerving, especially since he is so used to her occupying his memory with her darker hair and violet eyes. They barely had any time to get used to her, shining opalescent like this, before she was ripped away from them. “I’m glad you’re all still alive.”

Ferdinand hadn’t known he’d needed to hear her say that, but his shoulders droop slightly as soon as the words leave her mouth. “As am I,” he says quietly into his teacup.

The professor gestures towards him, her palm upturned, “How have you been coping?”

He doesn’t know what to tell her. Some nights he thinks he will never be able to get the taste of blood out of his mouth or the stench of it off his lance. Some nights he thinks only of what will come after the war, of the world they are striving for. There are still others where he thinks of nothing at all, and falls into a dreamless sleep that leaves him even more exhausted in the morning. He still does not know which of them are worse. “I am managing as well as any of us,” he says.

Byleth sighs and shakes her head slightly. “You sound like Edelgard.”

He feels a brief pang of jealousy that the professor checked on Edelgard’s well-being before his, but he takes a sip of tea and attempts to turn his mind away from it. “Oh? What did she have to say about all this?”

“Nothing of substance,” Byleth says, a faint frown crossing her face. “None of you have.”

“So you have checked in on all of us then?”

Byleth looks up, “Of course. You’re my students.”

The sudden pang of fondness Ferdinand feels for their professor hits him as sharp as any enemy’s sword, but it is a bittersweet feeling that comes leaking out of the wound. Better that than blood, he supposes. “And how about you?” He says at last, “Are you holding up alright?”

Her mouth thins, but other than that her face remains exactly the same. Watching the professor express her feeling is something he doesn’t think he will ever tire of. It is a marvel, to have yet more evidence that she cares for them all. Byleth’s expressions are so different from Edelgard’s. When Edelgard looks impassive, he is aware that it is a mask; with the professor, he sometimes wonder if she truly feels anything at all. It is a cruel thought, and one that he wishes he could take back every time it occurs to him, but it is present nonetheless.

“Everyone has changed so much,” Byleth says, a faraway look on her face, as if she is seeing some hidden scene play out, unbeknownst to him. “I felt like I was gone only for a moment, and yet you are all so different. Dorothea is so much quieter, and Linhardt does not complain nearly as much...And you and Hubert - you are close now, yes?”

Ferdinand shrugs and looks down into his teacup, trying to quell the tight know of apprehension in his stomach. He is not entirely sure what is the cause of these nerves; the professor will surely approve of his friendship with Hubert - all she had ever seemed to want while they were in the academy was for everyone in the house to get along. He takes a sip of his tea before answering, relishing in the taste. Somehow, Byleth has managed to procure his favorite tea, despite the fact that it has become exorbitantly expensive the longer the war has gone on. The only other person who has gone through the ordeal of buying it is Hubert. “The war has rendered our past disputes insignificant.”

Byleth’s lip quirks, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “I remember the two of you during the academy. Every time I assigned you to a task together you would both throw a fit.”

Ferdinand feels his cheeks color. “Ah. Well, at the time, he was simply insufferable. It’s not my fault that I could not help but point it out.”

She laughs, “I am sure that he would say the same thing about you.”

He supposes they were all a little insufferable, back in their academy days. “Why did you assign us tasks together so often? It was infuriating.”

The professor tips her head to the side, considering. “I don’t know. I always thought you would do well together with a little help, and it always made Edelgard smile whenever I tried to make the two of you play nice.”

“You forced Hubert and I to do chores together to make Edelgard happy?” He tries to keep the edge out of his voice, but he does not quite manage it. He’d been hoping for - for something - for the professor to have just once not been thinking of Edelgard, to have thought that perhaps his and Hubert’s friendship was - what? Meant to be? It’s a ridiculous thought, and the sharp curl of jealousy in his stomach is certainly not befitting of his station. 

Byleth rests her chin on her hand. “I suppose I found it amusing. Hubert would always get so indignant; it’s so hard to get a rise out of him.”

Ferdinand can’t help but chuckle at that. “Were my reactions not amusing as well?”

Byleth sighs and curls her fingers around her cup of tea, but doesn’t drink from it. “Some things managed to stay the same, I see,” she remarks, her voice still sounding rather sad.

“Professor?”

She looks up at him, a faraway look in her eyes. “I’ve missed so much,” she whispers. The professor always sounds a little detached from everything else, but he can still hear the genuine twinge of sorrow in her voice. “You’ve all grown so much and I… I am exactly the same.”

The sadness in her eyes makes his chest hurt. The professor is normally so reserved; any sort of expression of emotion affects him more than it ought to, although that is certainly true for the rest of the Black Eagles as well. They all love their professor too much. “We are not so unrecognizable,” he says. “Hubert walked up behind Bernadetta the other day and she cried. Truly, how she is still so skittish after all these years? I fear I will never understand her.”

Byleth takes a sip of her tea. “You have had very different lives.”

He laughs, crossing his legs and turning slightly in his chair. “Ah, see! Nothing has changed at all. You still understand us all better than anyone else, and you are still giving us advice.”

She reaches for a biscuit and doesn’t respond, but he hopes he has brought her some comfort. With all she has done for his friends - his family, really - it’s the least he can do.

-

The morning of the Battle of Derdriu dawns colder than anticipated; Ferdinand wakes up shivering in his tent. He’s fortunate enough, as a high enough ranking general, to get his own tent, but the chill that settled into his bones makes him wish there was someone else here, if only so he could absorb some of their warmth. He hopes Hubert and the Emperor managed to stay warm overnight.

He sighs and finishes strapping himself into his armor, then heads out to check on Renaltia before meeting with the others for last minute preparations. The dusty brown mare lifts her head up as he walks over, and he runs a hand down her neck in greeting. She’s not as large as some of the other war horses, but he is not as large as some of the other members of the cavalry, and so the two of them get along just fine.

“Good morning,” he says to her, combing his fingers through her mane. It’s superstitious of him - Hubert would certainly mock him for it - but he goes to greet Renaltia the morning of every battle, and every battle he and his friends have managed to come home still breathing.

She noses his chest and he smiles, resting his chin on the top of her head. He remembers the first day the cavalry had gotten her: not one of the other generals had been at all interested. She was sweet and on the small side, neither of which were ideal qualities for a war horse, but he saw her and had been instantly enamored. The empire had seized all their horses when they stripped his father of his title and estate, and so Ferdinand prepared himself to ride into battle on whatever horse Edelgard deigned let him use.

Still, the moment he had seen Renaltia, he had known that he loved her. He hadn’t begged Edelgard - he would not stoop to that particular low - but he did point out some of the other horses to the other generals, and he certainly did make sure that they had all noticed that Renaltia was rather small, and rather young, and too trusting to be any use in battle.

Now, he presses a kiss to her poll and straightens, stroking a hand gently down her face.

“You’re going to be late if you keep fussing over your horse like that,” a voice observes dryly from behind him.

Ferdinand whirls around, smiling broadly at Hubert. “Ah but see, you will be late for chastising me, and so we will both be equally as in trouble.”

Hubert shakes his head, “The professor sent me. She said someone needed to make sure you were on time.”

Her second battle back with them and the professor has already tuned in to his routines. He wishes it was surprising. “Ah. Well, in that case, we should be going.” He scratches Renaltia’s cheekbone lightly, then turns to follow Hubert.

-

Derdriu comes and goes, and it’s - hard. Harder than he expected. All these battles, and still he has not gotten used to them. The battle at Myrddin Bridge was a difficult fight, and watching Leonie and Ignatz fall was not something he relished by any means, but it was necessary. They are at war; hardly anything is too far. 

Hilda though… it is selfish of him, but he had hoped they wouldn’t kill her. Edelgard does not desire Claude’s death as she does Rhea’s. Surely there could be a way to negotiate peace. There is - the professor spares Claude, in the end - but Hilda does not make it through the fight. When he’d seen her from across the battlefield, she’d looked so different. He’d seen her fight before of course, but not strapped into a heavy suit of armor with Freikugel slung over her shoulder. There’d been no hesitation from her as she’d cut through their ranks, and none from the professor when she’d slaughtered her.

Claude’s cry of dismay when she finally fell had hit like an arrow through his heart. The professor spares him, and it feels almost cruel. It’s the right thing to do, but Ferdinand wonders how Claude will ever be able to forgive them for Hilda’s death. Were he in the professor’s place, Ferdinand does not think he would have done the same.

It’s a troubling thought, to know he would have killed Claude. To know that despite the sorrow Hilda’s passing has brought him, he would have not had the battle go any other way. After all, if it was not her, it would have been one of them. As much affection as he still harbors for his former friends in other houses, he would never choose any of them over the Black Eagles. He believes in Edelgard’s future, but more than that, he believes in his friends.

They arrive back at the monastery to a hot meal, but it tastes like ash in Ferdinand’s mouth. Afterwards, some of the others retire to the common room, but Ferdinand knows he will only sour their celebratory mood. He heads back to his room and paces, he tries to force his mind away from the events of the day. His eyes burn from exhaustion, but he knows sleep will elude him for awhile longer.

-

It had been early when he’d first retired, but by the time Ferdinand ends up at Hubert’s door it is well past midnight. He’d planned on going for a walk outside, truly, but instead his feet led him here. The monastery looms utterly silent, but by this point he is familiar enough with Hubert to know that he is likely still awake, even at this hour. Ferdinand sighs and knocks softly on the door.

A pause, and then it swings open.

Hubert looks just as he always does - when does he sleep? - but Ferdinand is glad to see him nonetheless. It is not the kind of night on which he wishes to be alone. 

“Ferdinand,” Hubert says. “You should be asleep.”

They both should be. “I am well aware, and yet that knowledge has not made sleep any easier.”

Hubert sighs. “I suppose you should come inside. Do take care not to distract me from my work.” He turns aside, sitting back down at his desk and resumes his obligations to the empire.

Ferdinand loiters in the doorway for a moment, then slips inside, closing the door quietly behind him. He is not entirely sure why he came here, or what he was expecting to gain out of it. With nothing left to do, he instead turns his attention to Hubert. He is still dressed in his clothes from earlier that day, and although he must be exhausted, the pile of paperwork to his right stands still rather intimidatingly. At first glance he had seemed to be just as composed as any day, but upon closer inspection the top button of his collar is undone, and his hair is mused slightly, as though he has run his hands through it several times. Despite this, Ferdinand feels under-dressed next to him, although his shirtsleeves and breeches are perfectly acceptable clothing choices for this time of night.

The silence in the room is suffocating. Ferdinand thinks he might to choke to death, and everyone would blame Hubert. The thought does not bring him as much satisfaction as it once would have.

“Were the losses heavy in your regiment?” Hubert says at last, no trace of emotion in his voice. He doesn’t even look up from his paperwork.

Ferdinand squares his shoulders. If Hubert wants to treat this encounter as a debriefing, so be it. “Losses were minor, but not insignificant. No one of a high rank, but every life matters, even in a war.”

Hubert nods, almost to himself. “And you are uninjured?”

“If I were injured, I doubt I would be darkening your doorstep at this hour.”

Hubert sighs, but there is no malice behind it. “I think you will darken my doorstep as often as you like with no regard for my own opinion.”

“Do you wish me to leave?”

The scratch of Hubert’s quill stops for a moment. “I don’t care what you do.”

Ferdinand swallows. Hubert sounds almost sentimental. He does not know how to react to it. He wants to reach out and touch Hubert’s face, cup it in his hands and tell him that the war will end someday and that it will all be alright in the end. “Is that true?” he whispers.  
Hubert lets out a shuddering breath, “Ferdinand.”

The room is so silent. Ferdinand shouldn’t be here. He steps further into the room, shutting the door gently behind him. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m overtired, nothing more.” Hubert says, “The battle at Derdriu has produced additional work for me.”

Ferdinand nods slowly. He doesn’t know how to respond to this version of Hubert.

“Everything I write turns into a body,” Hubert says. There is no remorse behind the statement, but still it sounds like a confession. Ferdinand cannot help but think that Hubert is not a man meant for confessions. His hands twitch, uselessly at his sides. How does one comfort a weapon shaped man?

“They are bodies as soon as they cross Lady Edelgard.” Ferdinand responds, and it sounds wooden, like his soul had followed those words right out of his mouth.

Whatever momentary intimacy Hubert had been willing to encourage is gone as soon as the words leave Ferdinand’s lips. He chuckles, completely without mirth, “Quite.” A pause. It is longer than Ferdinand would like it to be. “It is late, and we both have early mornings tomorrow,” Hubert says at last.

Ferdinand’s face feels warm. Whatever Hubert wanted from him, he has failed utterly. The dismissal is clear. He inclines his head, “Of course. Von Vestra.”

“Von Aegir,” Hubert replies, without looking up from his paperwork. 

-

The next time Ferdinand sees Hubert, their shoulders do not touch. Edelgard’s expression is shuttered when she looks at him, and Ferdinand knows that he has failed some test the two of them have set up. They are in the midst of a war, and yet he feels like he is back at the officer’s academy, trying to prove to himself that he is worthy of Edelgard’s attention, no matter the shape it takes. His father would be disappointed, but the thought does not rankle as it used to.

He thinks about the way Hubert’s face looked last night, illuminated only by the light of a candle. No traces of guilt on his face - Ferdinand knows that Hubert is incapable of feeling regret over any actions taken to protect Her Majesty - but he’d looked… exhausted. Tired in a bone-deep sort of way that Ferdinand does not think he will ever truly understand. They have both suffered from lack of sleep, but Hubert has gone without for longer. 

There is no trace of that expression now. Ferdinand clears his throat and resorts his papers, tearing his gaze away from Hubert’s face. There is work to be done, and such thoughts do not become him.

-

“I fear that it is all going wrong.” Ferdinand says to Dorothea, later.

She laughs, topping off their glasses of wine. They have sequestered themselves in her quarters, safe from prying eyes. “What has, Ferdie? The war?”

He groans, dropping his head onto Dorothea’s shoulder. “Hubert.”

Dorothea’s laugh is sparkling and beautiful, almost as if it is one of her songs. He can see it now - a packed theater, waiting with baited breath for her to grace their ears with a laugh, even if only for a moment. She reaches up to curl an arm around his shoulder, the other holding her glass of wine steady. “Of course. Forgive me for assuming you were worried about the ongoing. No, I am a fool! It is Hubert that concerns you. Forget the war efforts! Hubert is what we should concern ourselves with, am I correct?”

Perhaps his face is only so warm because of the wine. That is certainly more preferable than him blushing like a schoolboy. “The war concerns me as well.”

Dorothea shakes her head and takes a sip from her glass. “Concerning, he says, as though it is a pest and nothing more! And here I thought you were the bee!”

Ferdinand smiles, “And Hubert the flower I am circling now, I assume?”

Dorothea laughs and laughs at that, throwing her head back in delight. It is so easy to make her laugh. He wishes he could bottle up the sound and take it with him. If he were to fall in battle, all anyone would have to do is uncork it and he would spring to his feet, a smile on his face and a joke on the tip of his tongue, anything to keep her smiling. “He must be! You are certainly fretting enough for a bee.”

“Do bees fret?” Ferdinand mumbles, turning his face further into her shoulder.

Dorothea’s hand comes up to stroke his hair gently, and his eyes flutter closed at the touch. He sees her so little these days. They have grown so much, a far cry from their days at the academy. What he wouldn’t give to have time to spend frittering away in the kitchen to make her sweets. “Everything frets Ferdie. You most of all.”

“I think your metaphors are escaping you.”

She doesn’t answer, her fingers continuing to comb gently through his hair. “How has it gone wrong, hm?”

“There was…” he pauses, “a moment, last night. I misstepped. I do now know how to be what he needs.”

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Dorothea consoles him. “You’re reading too much into it.”

Ferdinand shakes his head, his face still buried in her neck. “You should have seen him and Lady Edelgard at our meeting this morning. I may as well not have even been there. I don’t think he looked at me even once.”

Dorothea sighs. “Listen. Hubie is… delicate. He has lived his whole life in service of this one thing. There isn’t anything but Edelgard to him. He’s having trouble adapting, I’d guess.” He doesn’t respond, so she tucks a stray wave behind his ear and continues. “Listen, I don’t think Hubert knows how to be what he needs either. He only knows how to be what Edelgard needs.”

“I want to be what he needs.” Ferdinand says, and the confession feels so stark now that he has put it out there in the open. He is too hopeful, striving for something that will not happen.

“Oh, Ferdie.” Dorothea says, setting her drink down gently on the floor. He is a fool, he truly is. All of this hope is making a wasteland out of him.

Dorothea does not probe his heartsickness, does not fill the room with her teasing laughter. She simply runs her fingers through his hair, separating out knots and filling the silence he has left with gentle stories about her days since they have last been alone together, talk of Petra and the songs they sang to rally the troops’ spirits. The stories distract him, but more comforting than anything is her quiet, steady presence. To think there used to be days without her companionship. However did he survive?

-

After that, Ferdinand resolves to move past this infatuation that has consumed him. He throws himself harder into his work. If Edelgard and Hubert will not accept his merit on a personal level, than they will accept it on a professional one.

He does not stop by Hubert’s office to see if the man is working late and would enjoy company, he doesn’t brew coffee for himself instead of tea in the hopes that he will be able to stand it a little more this time, and he does not get distracted by thoughts of pushing Hubert’s hair back from his face and cradling his face in his hands. It all pales in significance to the war effort. He will do whatever he can to bring Edelgard’s vision into fruition, and that means pushing aside all distractions.


	3. Pegasus Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Here, let me,” Hubert says, reaching his hand out to tuck Ferdinand’s hair behind his ear. Hubert’s gloves are still on, but his touch is light enough that Ferdinand can hardly feel them. The gesture is so tender, so unlike Hubert, that Ferdinand feels as if his heart is going to burst at its sweetness. Hubert freezes, his hand hovering a heartbeat away from cupping Ferdinand’s cheek. He wants to lean into the touch with every fiber of his being, and his eyes slip shut almost against his will.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is a day late! i have the flu :(

Despite his best efforts to the contrary, Ferdinand has fallen prey to his own thoughts more often than not as of late. He’s currently sitting in the gardens on the third floor of the monastery, trying to reflect on what exactly it is he’s done that’s made Hubert pull away from him. He would apologize, but he is not sure what there is to apologize for. Perhaps Hubert is merely upset that Ferdinand saw him in a moment of weakness?

So he’s pulled back, as of late. He goes to their meetings, of course, and Hubert and he get tea once a week, goth talently pretending that there is nothing amiss. But their friendship, which has seemed so strong as of late, suddenly feels built on shifting sands rather than a strong foundation of rock. It’s not a particularly pleasant feeling, especially while in the middle of a war. If Hubert dies tomorrow, Ferdinand will never know what it was exactly that he did wrong.

Hubert, on the other hand, seems determined to act as though Ferdinand has not committed any transgression. He is annoyingly punctual for their teas, and is a far better conversation partner than usual, even if Ferdinand has noticed that he’s gotten invited to fewer meetings with him and Edelgard.

The sound of incoming footsteps pulls him away from his thoughts, and he turns to see Hubert standing behind him. Despite their continued meetings for tea, things have changed since Ferdinand’s failure the other night. Hubert has not sought him out - their only time alone has been carefully prearranged, not spontaneous like it once was. It is well past time that he comes to terms with the fact that he will never be able to speak the secret language only Hubert and Edelgard know. It is fine; none of them are. It was foolish of him to think that they might one day permit him entry into their private sphere.

“Hubert,” he says, surprised. He’s never seen Hubert up here; he does not seem suited to the quiet and serenity of Rhea’s former quarters.

“Von Aegir,” Hubert says, stiff and overly-formal. “Have you not heard the shouting below?”

“I have been… lost in thought, I suppose,” Ferdinand says. Talking with Hubert now, more than ever, feels like a swordfight from one of Dorothea’s operas. If he makes the wrong move, parries at the wrong time, he’ll die, and the delight of speaking with Hubert will never again be his.

“It is of no concern to me,” Hubert says. “The professor sent me to retrieve you. Our scouts saw the Knights of Seiros approaching from the North. Prepare yourself; the monastery is under attack.”

-

Battle is always chaotic, but atop Renaltia, Ferdinand remains a pillar of calm. Despite the war cries echoing around them, Renaltia is sure-footed, his lance strikes true, and as long as the two of them are in sync there is no enemy that can match them. His days of being a foot soldier seem an eternity ago, as do the days where he wasn’t facing battle with Renaltia at his side. On the battlefield, she is his best friend - they are so fortunate to have each other.

He thrusts his lance into a Knight of Seiros, relieved that he doesn’t recognize their face. He knows that Seteth is here, has heard him shouting orders from atop his wyvern. If Seteth is here then Flayn must be as well, and all that he can hope for is that he will not be the one to kill her. Renaltia jumps to avoid a particularly life-threatening axe blow, and he refocuses himself: it will not do for his mind to wander in battle. He pats Renaltia on the neck to thank her for saving them, and she tips an ear back towards him to show that she appreciates him noticing.

On the battlefield (and often off of it), Ferdinand's first thought is always of his horse. That is what it means to be a cavalry unit, after all - if his horse falls, so does he. His lance is nothing if he does not have his horse under him, and that is something he has grown only more aware of in the past five years. Ferdinand will push his body beyond its limits without a second thought, but he would never do such a thing to Renaltia. As much as he likes to flaunt his prowess in battle, he knows that if she were to fall he would follow soon after.

That is why when a foot soldier attempts to stab through the slits in the armor on Renaltia’s neck, he ignores a wyvern rider swooping down to attack him to plunge his lance into the soldier going after his horse instead. The wyvern rider’s lance hits him square in the chest, and it is all Ferdinand can do to keep his seat on Renaltia’s back. She staggers under him as he loses his balance, his center of gravity pitching to the left, but they’re still standing, and that is what matters. Above them, the wyvern circles, no doubt intent on attacking again. Ferdinand forces his heels further down in his stirrups, adjusting his posture and ignoring the way his breath rattles in his chest. Something has gone wrong, but there is no time to think such thoughts.

The wyvern dives down towards them and Ferdinand readies his lance, aiming for a spot on the wyvern’s throat. If he can kill the mount, the rider is dead as well. Beneath him, Renaltia readies for their strike, and he touches his heels to her sides right before the wyvern rider reaches them. She jumps forward and rears up, and his lance sinks into the wyvern’s jugular. He yanks it out, shaking the viscera off of it. He will be scrubbing stains out of Renaltia’s armor for days to come after this battle, but so be it. So long as his lady is safe.

The wyvern falls to the ground, but its rider throws itself off of its back the moment before the collision. With a yell, the man readies to attack Ferdinand, and the sound of it brings Ferdinand’s mind back to a classroom five years ago. The seminar had been unremarkable, and he is not sure why the memory is so clear now. He can see it all: Byleth and Edelgard sitting in the front of the classroom, both furiously taking notes. Petra, sitting next to him and constantly asking questions that were far more helpful than anything he would’ve been able to think of. Hubert, arms crossed and sitting alone in the back, likely only in attendance at Edelgard’s insistence. And of course, at the front of the room: Seteth, patient and meticulous in his instruction.

Ferdinand inhales, steadying himself. It does not matter who he is facing off against. He will strike down any who get in his way. 

Renaltia drops back down onto all four legs, readying herself for a charge before Ferdinand can even ask her. All the other cavaliers were such fools for not realizing her potential as a warhorse. Seteth readies himself for a blow, and throws himself out of the way of Ferdinand’s lance at the last second. Renaltia is quick, but there is no avoiding Seteth’s lance after their failed charge. The blow catches Ferdinand in the sternum, and he hears a loud crack as it breaches his armor. Curse Seteth and his relic! Pain blossoms like a sick flower, and Seteth rears back to strike again, and the force behind the next thrust of his spear throws Ferdinand horribly off-balance. He’s fallen off many horses, in his time, and the worst part of it is always the instant before the fall, when he has no grip anymore and can feel himself sliding. Each time, his only thought is always that he could have stayed on if he had just ridden better, but in this moment his only thought is of the pain.

-

When Ferdinand next opens his eyes, a dull ache consumes his whole body, and the first thing he sees is Hubert. He lays in a bed - not his own - and Hubert is there. 

“How are you feeling?” Hubert says, stiffly standing at the foot of the bed - why is he in a bed?

Ferdinand pushes himself up onto his elbows and immediately regrets it, a shooting pain travelling up his arm. “Where am I?”

Hubert frowns, “You’re in the infirmary. You were injured in the battle. One of the enemy soldiers attacked Renaltia, and you both went down.”

They both went down - Renaltia went down. He has never seen her fall before, but she fell when he did and she could be dead for all he knows. The fear that grips him is like ice in his veins, and he fears the worst. Part of him wishes he was not awake, so that he wouldn't have to contemplate a world where his best friend is dead. “Is she alright?”

“Is that really the first thing you can think of?” Hubert says, but he doesn’t give Ferdinand time to answer before he nods. “Yes, she’s fine. One of her fetlocks is a bit swollen, and she has a rather bad cut on one of her legs, she will be fine.”

Ferdinand exhales, his shoulders caving in. The relief is so immense that his hands shake from the aftereffects. “Thank the goddess.”

“You had a collapsed lung when we found you,” Hubert informs him. “Linhardt patched you up, but you broke your right arm and bruised your ribs, if you would care to know.”

He can not imagine caring about anything other than his horse right now, “I do not know what I would do without her.”

Hubert sits down in the chair next to his bedside. “I know.” His hand twitches, and the thought that Hubert might try to hold his hand seizes him. It’s a lovely thought, and he would like to keep thinking it for as long as he can. It is a much nicer thing to speculate about than thoughts of Renaltia's death, despite the reassurance that she is safe. 

Ferdinand leans back against his pillows as he tries to focus on keeping his breathing as shallow as he can. There is no sense in aggravating his wounds any further. 

“You’re lucky to be alive,” Hubert says. “Renaltia fell on you.”

His throat tightens. He is lucky to be alive. He’s lucky she didn’t step on him getting up and shatter his skull. Poor Renaltia. She must have been so scared, alone and injured in battle without him there to comfort her. “Oh,” he says softly, ghosting his fingers over his ribs, where he can already feel the bruising.

“Ferdinand?” Hubert says, “Are you alright? Do I need to get Linhardt?”

Ferdinand shakes his head. He doesn’t know what to say - he feels that if he speaks, he will not be able to prevent himself from crying.

“She’s the reason we found you,” Hubert says. “I have no idea how she stood up without injuring you further, but she stood over you and neighed until the battle ended. It would have taken us much longer if not for her. You might not have survived otherwise.”

That only makes the lump in Ferdinand’s throat even worse. “Oh,” he says again. “Can-” he breaks off, closing his eyes and willing himself not to cry in front of Hubert, “When can I see her?”

Hubert’s hand flexes, as if he’s still thinking about reaching out. Ferdinand wishes he would. “You can ask Linhardt in the morning.”

Ferdinand nods. He can’t believe Renaltia’s stubborn refusal to abandon him. He will never love another horse this much, he’s positive.

They are the only people in the infirmary, and the silence settles around Ferdinand like a cloak. In truth, it is surprising that he's here at all; as spacious as the monastery's infirmary is, it’s not intended for use in a war, and the healers treat most injuries in the makeshift hospital they have elsewhere on the grounds. Being here instead must have something to do with his status as a general. That, or there was some concern that he may have a head injury that would benefit from isolation. Either way, he is glad for the privacy.

He has no idea what time it is, but it must be very late. He can see stars through the window, and the darkness seems absolute. How long has Hubert been waiting for him to wake up? Some of the others must have visited earlier, and if Hubert is the last one, it must be late indeed.

“Is there anything I can get you?” Hubert says, interrupting the silence.

Ferdinand shakes his head, the movement causing the ache in his chest to intensify. It seems as if motion of any sort will hurt for the foreseeable future. “Not unless you can bring Renaltia up here.”

“Ah,” Hubert says, “No. That is not within my power to accomplish.” But if it were, he seems to be saying, I would do it.

Ferdinand does not have anything else to say to him, but he does not want Hubert to leave. He lifts his right hand to brush his hair out of his face, forgetting the bandages on his arm and the need to keep it still. The cry of pain is involuntary, and he returns his hand to its place at his side. “Damn,” he says. “It appears even the simplest things are out of the question right now.”

“Here, let me,” Hubert says, reaching his hand out to tuck Ferdinand’s hair behind his ear. Hubert’s gloves are still on, but his touch is light enough that Ferdinand can hardly feel them. The gesture is so tender, so unlike Hubert, that Ferdinand feels as if his heart is going to burst at its sweetness. Hubert freezes, his hand hovering a heartbeat away from cupping Ferdinand’s cheek. He wants to lean into the touch with every fiber of his being, and his eyes slip shut almost against his will.

When Hubert leans back into his chair, it feels as if an eternity has passed. “I’m surprised you don’t wear your hair up more often,” Hubert says. “Even Linhardt can be bothered to keep his hair out of his face.”

Ferdinand feels like Hubert’s touch must have left some sort of mark on his face, from how hot his cheeks feel. “In truth,” he says, “I cannot braid my own hair even when I am not injured. I have never quite mastered the talent. I can manage to put it up in a bun on a good day, but that is… not exactly feasible at the moment. Not very befitting of nobility, I'm aware.” He smiles as best he can, and Hubert’s mouth thins even further, his gaze darting down to look at the wrapping on his arm.

“Don't nobles have servants for those sorts of things?" Then, when Ferdinand does not reply, Hubert speaks again. "I can do your hair, if you’d like,” Hubert says, so soft that Ferdinand has to strain to hear him.

The offer feels so precious that Ferdinand is almost afraid to respond for fear that Hubert will change his mind. After a moment, he nods, “I would...appreciate that. It would be easier to have it out of the way.”

“Of course,” Hubert says, his voice still far softer than it has any right to be. He stands up, and Ferdinand shifts, ignoring the pain it causes, angling himself away from Hubert. “I do Edelgard’s hair quite often, but I suppose you don’t want anything that complex.”

Ferdinand curls his fingers into the bed sheets. He is nervous, and he does not for the life of him understand why. Residual worry over Renaltia, perhaps? “No, nothing like that. Just - something to keep it away from my face.”

Hubert exhales slowly behind him, a quiet noise that Ferdinand does not think Hubert intended him to hear. He runs his fingers gently through the hair at the top of Ferdinand’s head, pulling the loose strands from the front to the back of his head. Hubert's fingernails brush against his scalp and Ferdinand shivers, not expecting the sensation. Hubert’s hand freezes for a moment, and then he reaches for the hairbrush someone - Dorothea or Petra, if he had to guess - has left on the small table beside the cot.

“If you are unable to braid your own hair, then who does it?” Hubert asks. “I’ve seen it braided before.”

“Ah,” Ferdinand says, his eyes drifting shut as Hubert begins to guide the brush through his hair. He’s being gentler than Ferdinand expected, and it’s - nice. Hubert is not the sort of person he thinks of as taking care of others but here he is, taking care of him. “Dorothea, generally. Petra will on occasion but, Dorothea.” It has never been like this with Dorothea. When Dorothea does his hair it is a spur of the moment decision and the cause of much laughter. This is so much quieter. There is a kind of intimacy in this, he thinks.

Hubert’s hands are softer and more careful than hers; Dorothea seems to care little if she pulls his braid too tight or if her fingers catch on a knot. Hubert is so gentle that it's maddening. The brush catches on a knot and Hubert stops immediately, picking through the tangle with his fingers. Hubert says nothing for a long while, and Ferdinand loses himself in the feeling of Hubert's hands in his hair. He wonders, not without jealousy, if this is what it is like when Hubert does Edelgard's hair. Is he this gentle? This purposeful? Surely not; Hubert and Edelgard are efficient in their dealings, and in this moment Ferdinand cannot detect a hint of urgency behind Hubert's actions. 

Dorothea would mock the two of them for an eternity if she saw them now. He had complained about her rough fingers once, and she'd scoffed, telling him that in the future he can ask one of the women from her opera company for assistance. He would come crawling back her after their rough treatment of his hair, she'd said. Next to Hubert's thoughtful ministrations, he's sure that they would feel like torture.

Hubert finishes brushing his hair, and runs his hands through his hair one last time before beginning a braid. Every movement feels purposeful, and Ferdinand finds himself wishing that this moment would never end. Hubert's movements are slow and careful, and the intent behind them makes the pain in Ferdinand's chest worse. “I am sure my braiding skills are not up to your usual standards, but I hope they suffice,” Hubert says at last.

It takes Ferdinand a moment to remember how to speak. “You are much gentler than Dorothea," he says, his voice rough. 

Hubert combs his fingers through the the curls above his ear, gathering it more firmly in his hand. He is good at this, as much as he has implied otherwise. “You are already hurt,” he says. “I see no reason why I should injure you further.”

That is… not the reply Ferdinand had been expecting. “I am fine Hubert,” he says. “Truly, it is not bad. I will be back on my feet in no time.”

“It was a foolish injury,” Hubery says, his hands not hesitating in their movements.

Ferdinand feels untethered by Hubert’s touch, but it is not enough to distract him completely. His injury was necessary, after all. “We saved the monastery. That is all that matters.”

“You’re an idiot,” Hubert snaps, all the softness abruptly gone from his voice. Whatever moment hung between them begins to dissipate into the air along with Ferdinand's sense of peace. “You were reckless. You could have gotten yourself killed. Tell me, do you wish to be the first of the Black Eagle Strike Force to die in this war? It would be my pleasure to assist you if that’s the case.”

“I wish to see this war ended,” Ferdinand says hotly. “Unlike you, I do not relish in bloodshed and death.”

“I do what Lady Edelgard requires,” Hubert sneers. His hands have stilled in Ferdinand's hair and despite the fact that Ferdinand’s blood nears a boiling point, he wishes that Hubert had not stopped. “I know you have no concept of loyalty, but I do not wish for this war to continue. My only wish is for her vision to come to fruition.”

Ferdinand laughs and it tastes like ash, “No concept of loyalty? Edelgard has imprisoned my father in his own home, stripped my family of our titles, and you accuse me of being disloyal? I have remained by Edelgard’s side these last five years despite my family’s complaints, despite any of my own qualms, simply because I trust her!”

“Despite your qualms,” Hubert repeats, “as if you do not repeat these dissenting opinions of yours at every opportunity. You’re lucky no one has accused you of treason. If it were up to me I would’ve had you executed long ago.”

There is no clever reply for the object of his affections telling him he deserves execution. It seems unthinkable that Hubert had so gently brushed his hair out of his face only a half hour or so ago. “Is that so?” Ferdinand says, his voice low. “I was not aware my continued existence was such a blight on the war effort.”

Hubert’s hands are still tangled in his hair. Hubert is still so close that he can feel the warmth of his touch even through his gloves. The intimacy between them is still suspended, but the air has turned sour. “Ferdinand,” Hubert says, and he does not sound nearly apologetic enough for what he has just said.“No, do go on,” Ferdinand says, trying to ignore the slight trembling in his hands. “How would you have me executed? Or would it be easier to remove my traitorous tongue from my mouth so that I may still be of some use on the battlefield?”

At last, Hubert wrenches his hands free from Ferdinand’s hair. His fingers tangle on a knot as he does so and Ferdinand can not prevent the sharp inhale of pain that it causes. Hubert pauses for a moment, completely still above him, and then sighs. “I am not going to execute you.” Normally, that sort of remark would be a joke, accompanied by a slight twitch at the corner of Hubert’s mouth or something of that sort. But tonight, Hubert sounds deadly serious, and his voice sinks into Ferdinand like a stone.

“No,” Ferdinand agrees, “but you would put the order onto Lady Edelgard’s desk.”

“If you’re going to be childish, I will leave you be.”

Ferdinand finally pushes himself away from Hubert, turning around in his infirmary bed to face him. He is so angry with Hubert that the pain it causes is negligible, and if nothing else, he hopes Hubert is aware that he is causing him yet suffering and will feel guilty for that later as well. “I am being childish? You tell me that I deserve death, then accuse me of being childish?” He laughs. “Hubert, you have no choice in the matter. I no longer have need of your company.”

Hubert drops his gaze to the floor, but he doesn’t apologize. “Ferdinand-”

“Leave.” Ferdinand says, “Do not make me tell you a third time.”

Hubert’s face looks as if it were carved from stone, “Of course.”

He turns and exits the room, and Ferdinand, very admirably (in his opinion), keeps his composure until after the latch of the infirmary clicks shut. The first sob that leaves him is wretched and hollow, and the next is no better. He is a fool, to think that Hubert could ever care for anything other than Edelgard.

-

When Ferdinand wakes in the morning, his head is pounding and his eyes feel sticky from crying himself to sleep. Light floods into the room through the windows, and the infirmary, which had looked so quiet and peaceful last night, now looks stark and abandoned. Despite his rage with Hubert, which still simmers red-hot in his skin, he wishes he weren’t alone. 

As if in response, the door swings open, and Linhardt walks in the door.

“Oh, you’re awake,” he says. “You look dreadful. What happened to your hair?

Of course; he had completely forgotten that Hubert was halfway through braiding his hair before that awful fight. “It always looks like this in the morning,” he lies. 

Linhardt doesn’t look as if he believes him, but evidently decides that he doesn’t care. “I want to have one of the other healers to look at you before I use any more magic on you. Is the pain unbearable, or can you wait? It might be awhile.”

Ferdinand’s arm is radiating a dull, pulsing pain all the way up to his shoulder, and his headache has still not abated. “I can wait.”

Linhardt yawns, reaching up with one hand to cover his mouth. “Tremendous. I’ll have time for a nap after all. Would you like some tea first?”

“Tea sounds heavenly. Will you join me?”

Linhardt sighs, likely already thinking of his nap, “If I have to.”

Linhardt leaves and returns a few minutes later carrying a tray of tea, which he sets down on the bedside table before sitting down next to Ferdinand. Hubert was the last person to occupy that chair, and as angry with him as Ferdinand is, he can’t help but wish that Hubert would come back and apologize. But that is enough of that train of thought; he is being ungrateful to Linhardt, something not at all befitting of a noble.

“Did the pain keep you awake last night?” Linhardt says, “You look like you didn’t sleep at all.”

Ferdinand sits upright at this point, and although his arm did make sleeping difficult, he knows the reason he was awake is because of Hubert. “I have not been sleeping much at all lately,” he says, avoiding the question.

Linhardt narrows his eyes, “I see.”

Ferdinand picks up his cup of tea that Linhardt had so kindly prepared. “I have been… preoccupied, as of late.”

“Doing what?” Linhardt says, as blunt as ever, “Singing to your horses?”

In truth, Ferdinand has been so busy helping with the war effort that time to sleep has been scarce. He shrugs and smiles blandly at Linhardt.

Linhardt shakes his head. “You’re as bad as Hubert. Are you going to make me carry you to bed too?”

“I- what?”

Linhardt sweeps his hair over his shoulder. It’s almost as long as Ferdinand’s now, something he forgets due to how often Linhardt pulls it back. “Has he never told you? It was back in our days at the Officer’s Academy. I found him asleep in the library and had to carry him back to his room.”

Ferdinand cannot imagine Hubert tired enough to let someone carry him. The thought of Linhardt doing the carrying is just as out of the question - is the mage really that strong? The image of the two of them gives him an odd feeling in the pit of his stomach. How far had Linhardt carried him? How many people had seen? Had Linhardt taken his shoes off before depositing him into bed, covered Hubert with a blanket before leaving? Whatever he had done, Ferdinand is certain he could have done a better job.

Ferdinand grimaces and takes another sip of his tea. What he needs is to stop thinking about Hubert. “I am surprised I have never heard that story before," he says at last, trying to school his face into neutrality.

“Knowing Hubert, he had everyone who saw killed,” Linhardt says.

Ferdinand smiles, but it feels insincere, “Undoubtedly.”

Linhardt sets his teacup down on the tray with an abrupt clink. “The two of you fought.”

Ferdinand sighs. The tea is not helping the way he’d hoped. “He is angry with me for getting injured,” he says, which is a partial truth. “It does not concern you.”

“You won’t be able to let it go until you speak with him,” Linhardt says.

Ferdinand sighs. It is so like Linhardt to press an issue he doesn’t wish to speak of. “Like I said, it is nothing to concern yourself over.”

“We’ve all grown accustomed to the two of you getting along,” Linhardt continues. “Don’t make us weaker over some petty argument.”

It is hardly petty, Ferdinand thinks, but he does not bother replying. They finish their tea in silence, and still Ferdinand is unable to pull his thoughts away from Hubert.

“The others have been asking to see you,” Linhardt says at long last, “and I’m tired of telling them no. If you need anything else, bother them. I’m going to take a nap.”

Linhardt is exasperating, even in the best of times; despite his intentions, his words often frustrate Ferdinand. But this morning, alive only thanks to Linhardt’s healing magic, Linhard’s callous words being a smile to Ferdinand’s face. If he did not care, he would not have healed him in the first place. “Try to get some work done today,” he says.

Linhardt rolls his eyes and stands, “Never.”

“Thank you,” Ferdinand says as he leaves, “I would be dead if not for you.”

He scoffs, “Thank Hubert. He’s the one that realized you were missing.”

Linhardt is out the door before he can respond, and Petra and Dorothea rush in behind him.

“You are feeling better?” Petra asks, taking a seat in the chair that Linhardt had been occupying only a few seconds ago.

“You look terrible,” Dorothea says, sitting on the edge of the bed and depositing her bag on the floor next to her. “Poor Ferdie.”

He smiles at Petra, “I should be healed in time for our next battle.”

Dorothea shakes her head, patting his leg, “I’m just glad you weren’t hurt worse. We were all so worried when Hubie realized you weren’t there.”

Ferdinand leans back, settling against his pillows, “Was anyone else injured?”

“We were having much difficulty in the fight,” Petra says, “but we have kept the monastery safe. General Ladislava and General Randolph gave their lives for our safety.”

“Caspar broke one of his gauntlets and then kept fighting,” Dorothea tells him. “I think he has a few broken fingers, but nothing to worry about.” Unlike you, she seems to be saying.

“Your horse is safe,” Petra reassures him, and even though Ferdinand already knows, it still soothes him. “I was checking on her before we came to see you.”

Petra’s straightforward kindness brings a smile to his face. They are so lucky to have her still here. She could have left at any time in the last five years, and yet she has remained steadfast and true. He will miss her so when she returns to Brigid. “Thank you,” he says. She nods, serene, and he reaches out and squeezes her hand.

“Are you alright?” Dorothea says, “I know you must be in pain, but you seem so sad.”

He wonders if trying to conceal his fight with Hubert from the two of them is at all possible. Probably not, knowing Dorothea. “I spoke to Hubert last night,” he says.

Dorothea raises an eyebrow, “He was here when you woke up?”

Ferdinand nods. “It was not a pleasant conversation.”

“He was having much worry when you were not with the rest of us after the battle,” Petra says. “He is the one that found you.”

“Linhardt told me,” Ferdinand says, picking at a scab on his hand.

“He was worried sick,” Dorothea says, clasping her hands in her lap. “You should have seen him fretting over you. I think he would have stayed with you the whole time had Linhardt not sent him away.”

He does not care. “It was a farce,” Ferdinand says. “We had a terrible fight last night.”

“It was no farce, as you say,” Petra interjects. “I do not think he would have left at all if Lady Edelgard had not ordered him to listen to Linhardt.”

Dorothea must notice some shift in his expression, for she reaches into her bag and pulls out a thick packet of paper. “Let’s talk of happier things! A friend from the opera sent me a copy of next season’s production. I thought you might like to see it.”

Petra nods, “And I am thinking of doing your hair.”

Neither of them take no for an answer - Dorothea shoves herself into bed next to him, jostling his arm and causing a burst of pain that he finds he does not truly mind, and hums bars from the opera in his ear, and Petra styles his hair like a warrior of Brigid and their laughter chases away every sour thought that Hubert has left lingering in the room.


	4. Lone Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are a person,” Ferdinand repeats.
> 
> Hubert drops the hard brush back into the box he’d gotten it from. “I should be going,” he says abruptly.
> 
> “Hubert,” Ferdinand says.
> 
> “I should be going,” Hubert repeats. But then he reaches out across Renaltia’s back and covers Ferdinand’s hand with his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is two days late! it is. 9000 words long and so it took a little longer to edit dfsjkal hopefully the length makes up for it!! 
> 
> as always, let me know what you think :)

Ferdinand’s recovery is slow, but it happens nonetheless. His broken arm heals easily with magic, but his bruised ribs take much longer. He is mind-numbingly bored for most of it, and does not take well to the long periods of solitude. 

A knock on the open door of the infirmary distracts him from his thoughts, which have turned yet again to mulling over all the things he’d rather be doing than laying in bed, “Yes?”

Edelgard walks in, her expression impassive. Her boot heels click on the floor of the infirmary, and she stops at the foot of his bed, her hands clasped in front of her. “How are you feeling?” she asks steadily. If he did not know her better he would think her wholly unconcerned, but her presence alone implies a level of affection that makes him smile. 

Ferdinand straightens up as best he can, although the motion makes the constant ache in his ribs intensify. “Better,” he says. “They tell me my arm has healed.”

Edelgard nods, standing quiet and still for a moment too long for friendly conversation. Finally, she moves, sitting down in the chair next to his bed. “We have not lost any of the Strike Force since the war started, and I do not wish to start now.”

“Neither do I,” he says. “Although if I fall in battle, I will be considered a war hero. You will have to work even harder to step out from my shadow.”

Edelgard laughs, “Well, if you don’t survive I will have my whole life to outshine you.”

It is so rare to see Edelgard outside the context of a tactics meeting. He forgets that she is the same age as him. “I suppose I will have to remain alive then,” he says.

Edelgard takes his hand, pressing it between hers for just a moment. “You had us all worried,” and although her tone of voice does not change at all, the sentimentality of the action leaves Ferdinand feeling like he has just witnessed an outburst of emotion. “I’m afraid I can’t stay as long as I’d like. I only stopped by to check in.”

“Of course,” Ferdinand says, swallowing his disappointment. “I understand.”

Edelgard squeezes his hand and then stands to leave, her skirts sweeping behind her.

Although Edelgard does not stop by again, the others do quite frequently, and he appreciates their company more than words can say. Truly, he does not know how he would have survived his bed rest if not for Bernadetta, sitting next to him and quietly reading aloud, or Dorothea, dropping off meals and chat about her day. Petra tells him stories of Brigid, and Caspar recounts his numerous sparring matches and tournaments. On one memorable occasion Linhardt visits not for medical purposes, but to cram himself into bed with Ferdinand to take a nap. The professor does not stay long, but she visits often, dropping by to say hello or to bring him a cup of tea before drifting off to do whatever it is she does when she is not helping to shape the world. Fish, probably.

All of them come visit, that is, save Hubert. Ferdinand is most angry with himself, for feeling disappointed.

It feels like weeks before Linhardt and the other healers permit him to leave the infirmary, although he knows it is only a matter of days. As soon as Linhardt gives him the update, he is off to visit Renaltia. He has her to thank for his life, after all.

“Titi!” He calls, standing at the gate to the horse fields.

His wonderful, amazing steed who saved his life and sheltered him from battle does not move a muscle at the sound of his voice. Ferdinand laughs and opens the gate to catch her.

“That could have been the last time you saw me, you stubborn creature!” He says, petting her affectionately on the nose.

Renaltia shoves her nose into his chest, no doubt in search of treats. “You are disgusting,” he says to her, his smile so wide that it hurts his cheeks. And she is, truly - she has clearly rolled recently, and although the stable grooms have groomed her since battle, it has likely been a day or two. She has dirt caked into her pale brown coat.

He slips her halter on and leads her back up to the stables, humming under his breath. It is good to be out of the infirmary, to breathe fresh air and be able to see for himself that Renaltia truly is alright. “Thank you,” he says to her, once they’re back in the stables. “You are a very good horse.”

She presses her face to his stomach and Ferdinand rests his head on top of hers, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. “Thank you,” he repeats, before straightening. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, shall we?”

He has been down at the barn for about an hour when he hears footsteps behind him. In truth, he expects it to be one of Linhardt’s messengers telling him that he should really return to bed. Ferdinand turns, ready to lay out an argument for why they should permit him to stay at the stables, but to his surprise, it is Hubert.

They have not spoken since that terrible fight. Ferdinand did consider reaching out, but seeing as Hubert undoubtedly caused it, he is the one that should extend the conciliatory gesture. Ferdinand, in his opinion, has done nothing wrong.

“Ferdinand,” Hubert says, bowing stiffly.

That’s odd; normally Hubert reserves such formalities for Edelgard and, on occasion, Byleth. “Yes?” Ferdinand says, leaning against Renaltia’s shoulder. He’s sure she does not look particularly imposing right now: she’s still covered in grime from rolling in the field, and is currently nibbling on his shoulder, trying to groom him. It’s really a very sweet gesture.

Hubert scowls at him, “You missed tea.”

Something in Ferdinand’s heart flutters at that. “Forgive me,” he says, “I did not think you would deign to have tea with me any longer, after our discussion the other day.”

There is a long moment when Hubert does not reply, and Ferdinand leans his weight more fully against Renaltia, scratching her withers. She continues to nibble gently at his shoulder, and he bites back a smile. Even in the midst of the war, it is good to have a horse that loves him back. Hubert shifts his weight from one foot to another, an odd motion for him. He does not wear the awkwardness well, but Ferdinand cannot find it in himself to care.

“Your hair is soft,” Hubert says at last.

It is not what he expected Hubert to say, and it is such a blatant compliment that Ferdinand forgets his anger at Hubert for a moment and feels only warmth. He swallows, shoving the burst of affection out of his mind. “That has nothing to do with tea.”

“No,” Hubert agrees, “but it is what I should have said to you, instead of picking such a foolish fight.”

That is still not an apology, but it is getting there. Ferdinand swallows, pushing Renaltia away when she again shoves her nose against his face. He had forgotten she was there for a moment. “Is that so?”

“I was… concerned for your safety,” Hubert says.

“That is no reason to tell me you would have me executed,” Ferdinand twists his hand in Renaltia’s mane. Hubert will apologize. Surely he came here to apologize.

“No,” Hubert agrees. “It is not.”

The silence hangs between them, awkward and uncertain. “Is that all you came to say?” Ferdinand prompts.

“No,” Hubert says again. “I-” He sighs and looks to the side, the line of his jaw tight. “I should not have said that. It was callous and unnecessary.”

“It was,” Ferdinand agrees. He is rather enjoying seeing Hubert stumble over his apology. It reminds him that he’s human.

“I do not wish you were dead,” Hubert says at last. “Your dedication to the cause is apparent, and your advice, as loathe as I am to say it, has been crucial to Lady Edelgard during the war.”

Ferdinand allows himself to smile, “Thank you.”

Hubert clears his throat, “That is still not enough, is it?”

Ferdinand is enjoying this far more than he should. He so rarely gets to be the jilted one in his dealings with Hubert - normally they are both at fault. “It is not.”

Hubert sighs heavily. “I am sorry that I said those things to you the other night. I was angry about your injury, and did not deal with it as I should have.”

Ferdinand takes in the twist of Hubert’s mouth, the way he is opening and closing a fist at his side. This is the most worked up he has ever seen Hubert over anything, and as fun as it has been to draw this out, he would rather not be crueler than necessary. “I need to finish grooming Renaltia,” he says. “We should continue this discussion afterwards.” He pauses, “Unless - would you lend me a hand? It will be much more efficient that way.”

He can count on one hand the number of times he has seen Hubert willingly work with a horse outside of when battle necessitates it. Hubert, to his credit, does not immediately leave. He sighs again, “I suppose I owe you that much.”

“You did tell me you thought I deserved execution,” Ferdinand reminds him. In truth, he is not ready to forgive Hubert, and he does not think that he will be for some time longer, but this is a more than adequate first step.

Hubert sighs, but takes the curry comb Ferdinand hands him and starts running it in circles over Renaltia’s coat. She goes back to picking at her hay, and Ferdinand looks at Hubert over the top of her back. “Why did you say it?”

“I don’t know,” Hubert says, pausing at a particularly dirt-encrusted spot on Renaltia’s shoulder. Ferdinand does not know if he’s ever seen her this filthy before. “I suppose I disliked how worried I was. I thought that perhaps I could ignore it.”

“By saying such awful things to me?”

“I didn’t say it was sensible,” Hubert says.

“While we are talking about transgressions,” Ferdinand says, “may I ask you about something?”

Hubert grunts.

“It was weeks ago, at this point. After Derdriu? You seemed… unsettled, and I said something wrong, but I am not sure what it was.”

“Ah,” Hubert says, “I thought you had forgotten.”

“I fear it caused a rift between us, and I would like to understand why.”

Hubert changes out his curry comb for a hard brush, and Ferdinand watches him work for a long moment. He never sees Hubert at the stables, but it is satisfying, watching him with his Renaltia. It’s almost domestic. It sparks a feeling in his chest that feels dangerously like happiness, something he cannot afford to associate with Hubert any more than he already does. “You did not respond as yourself,” Hubert says, finally.

“Pardon?” Ferdinand says, beginning to comb through Renaltia’s mane.

“You said what you thought I wanted to hear,” Hubert says. He seems intent on not making eye contact with Ferdinand for any of this, instead focusing on his new role as Renaltia’s groom.

“I thought it would comfort you,” Ferdinand says, frowning slightly.

“If I wanted to speak with someone who would treat me as I do myself,” Hubert says, “I would find a mirror.”

“I upset you because I tried to adapt to what I thought would comfort you most?” Ferdinand says, slightly indignant.

“You upset me,” Hubert says sternly, “because you were not treating me as you normally do.”

“How do I normally treat you?”

“Like a person.”

Ferdinand is still angry with Hubert, and knows that he will likely stay so for some time longer. But in the face of such a stark confession, the weight of his anger is much lighter. “You are a person,” Ferdinand says, quiet.

The words hang between the two of them, somehow more honest than anything else they have said to each other. “Who treats you like you are not?” Ferdinand asks instead. He feels ashamed; he too has fallen into the trap of viewing Hubert as little more than a weapon on more than one occasion. 

Hubert shakes his head, “It is of no concern to you. They are often correct in their assumptions. Still, it is… refreshing, to be subjected to your viewpoint.”

“You are a person,” Ferdinand repeats.

Hubert drops the hard brush back into the box he’d gotten it from. “I should be going,” he says abruptly.

“Hubert,” Ferdinand says.

“I should be going,” Hubert repeats. But then he reaches out across Renaltia’s back and covers Ferdinand’s hand with his own.

Ferdinand looks up and locks eyes with Hubert, his face warm, “I am still angry with you.”

“I know,” Hubert replies.

“Good,” Ferdinand says, feeling dangerously off-kilter. Hubert still has not moved, and that more than anything feels damning. Anyone could walk by and see them like this. Their other moments of whatever it is that Ferdinand wants to call this thing between them have been private and secluded, but the stables are busy. “With that out of the way, do you have time for tea tomorrow?”

The faintest impression of a smile tugs at the corner of Hubert’s mouth, “Yes, I believe that can be arranged.”

-

News of their battle plans for the month come swiftly, but Ferdinand suspects something is off before Edelgard tells them that they are not, in fact, attacking Fhirdiad. 

Arianrhod. The Silver Maidan. Ferdinand has heard tales of it, although he has never been there himself. It is likely they will face yet more of their classmates, something that he regrets more for Dorothea’s sake than his own. This was wears heavily on her, he knows. Despite the fact that, unlike Hubert and Edelgard, none of them have been preparing for this war since childhood, Ferdinand has always known that he may someday die for his country.

The trip to Arianrhod is long, and as much as it is tiresome, it is also nice; the nine of them by themselves for a time. They have grown so used to seeing each other only under the trappings of war preparations. Here, it is almost as if they are children again, having talked Byleth into taking them out to explore the grounds around the monastery. There are troops travelling with them, of course, but for most of the journey it is just the Black Eagles. Their discussion starts with battle plans, but quickly morphs into usual antics. 

They’re still quite far from enemy lines, so although they need to be careful, their lookouts will warn them if they really need to focus on the task ahead. Dorothea’s been trying to talk Edelgard into letting her sing a marching tune for at least fifteen minutes, and by the time Hubert steps in to try to stop her she’s already broken Edelgard down and begins to sing softly under her breath.

Bernadetta has started pointing out plants to Petra, who nods studiously at each identification. Her fingers twitch, as if she’d like to be holding a pencil, jotting down notes. 

Caspar, on the other hand, has started walking comically out of tempo to Dorothea’s song, and it’s unclear if he is doing it on purpose or not. The two of them dissolve into a pointless squabble, and Ferdinand laughs.

“It’s nice to see everyone so happy,” Byleth remarks from his left.

Ferdinand starts; he is never going to be able to hear her coming, he swears. “Yes, it is.”

She smiles serenely, “Are you happy?”

The unexpected question floors him. He has not considered his own happiness in some time. He will be happy when the war is over, all his friends are safe, and he has secured his future. But the professor’s question makes him wonder: if he dies in Arianrhod, will he die happy? He looks out at all his friends, at Hubert’s stern disapproval and Edelgard, biting back a smile at their friends. Something about the sight of them all together fills his chest with warmth, and he turns to look at her. “I believe that I am. Are you?”

She smiles, small and secret and just for the two of them and takes his hand, squeezing it once, “I am.”

-

Dorothea cries after the Battle of Arianrhod and none of them know how to comfort her. Bernadetta sits quietly next to her, although she seems unsure of what to do. The Black Eagle Strike Force huddles around a campfire, ignoring their warm and dry tents in favor of each other’s company. They’ll travel back to the monastery in the morning, but for the time being they are quiet, Dorothea’s sobs the only sound in the otherwise still campsite. Finally, Petra sits next to Dorothea, wrapping an arm gently around her, and Dorothea turns and sobs into her shoulder. This must be about Ingrid; Ferdinand knows that the two of them had been close, before the war. He’d been at the battle where they’d fought off a suitor of Ingrid’s, had heard Dorothea talking about it with the professor afterwards, a flush on her cheeks. Ingrid Brandl Galatea did not have enough money to her name to be a viable prospect for Dorothea, but that had been enough to stop her.

Edelgard, on the other hand, appears almost giddy after the battle. He had caught sight of her conversing with Hubert quietly afterwards, a serene smile gracing her face. Even Hubert seems pleased, and they stay huddled away from the rest of them for a long while, whispering to each other. There is something else going on here that he and the rest of the strike force do not understand. To her credit however, Edelgard’s happiness after the battle fades quickly in the face of Dorothea’s sobs, and she walks over to sit quietly next to the other girl, the professor following not long behind.

Ferdinand contemplates walking over, but the girls seem to be having a moment and he doesn’t want to intrude. On the other side of their camp, Linhardt snores on Caspar’s shoulder, no doubt even more exhausted than normal due to the amount of healing he poured into them all during the battle. Caspar is quiet for once, cleaning his gauntlets and staring into the fire. That leaves only Hubert, standing alone at the edge of their little outfit. 

“Poor Dorothea,” Ferdinand says, walking over to stand next to him.

Hubert grunts, “She should have learned to give up on such attachments long ago.”

“You could stand to be a little more sensitive,” Ferdinand snaps. “Dorothea is our friend, and she is suffering.”

“I am well aware,” Hubert says. “I wish it were not the case. But this is a war, and she should know that by now.”

“You are being cruel,” Ferdinand insists.

“No,” Hubert counters, “I am being practical. We all have to make sacrifices, as unfair as it may seem.”

“I have never seen you upset at killing our former classmates,” Ferdinand says, frowning.

Hubert sighs, as if Ferdinand is a child that does not grasp a painfully simple concept. “Of course not. I never knew any of them; unlike you all, I knew that this was coming.”

Logically, Ferdinand knew that Hubert and Edelgard have been planning this war for nearly their whole lives, but hearing it stated so plainly stops him from making a sharp retort. How much of their childhoods have both of them lost to make this future possible?

-

Where the march to Arianrhod had been lighthearted, the march back is grim. They are all tired, and none of them wish to linger in the city for any longer than necessary.

“I wonder how the rest of the army has fared,” Ferdinand says, unable to bear the silence any longer.

Edelgard tips her head to the side, considering. “Although my reasoning may not be clear to them, occupying Arianrhod was necessary.”

“Your people need understanding,” Petra says. “You are not able to tell them?”

“I’m afraid not,” Edelgard says. “My deception was the only way to accomplish this goal without Cornelia’s knowledge.”

“You can at least say that, can you not?” Ferdinand asks.

“These are complicated matters,” Hubert interjects. “Best to avoid asking too many questions.” There is a note of finality in his voice, and although the Black Eagles rarely listen to him when he asks them to stop prying, there is something about this combination, his seriousness and Edelgard’s carefully measured answers, that prevents the rest of them from sating their curiosity.

“Well,” Ferdinand says at last, “our people believe in you.”

“We all do,” Dorothea agrees.

At that, Edelgard’s expression eases. Dorothea has been quiet since her tears stopped, and Ferdinand is not sure which is worse - her sobs or her silence. Both are unnerving, and he wishes there were a way to give her the happiness she deserves.

“Perhaps we could do something, to show the troops that you appreciate their faith?” Ferdinand ventures.

“You have an idea,” Linhardt says, his voice sharp.

Ferdinand allows himself to smile, twisting in Renaltia’s saddle to beam at him, “I do! Thank you for the segway, my friend. Edelgard, our people work tirelessly. They often go on nothing but devotion and you. Devotion is a good foundation for a war, but not for a society, and certainly not for the society you wish to make.”

Edelgard says nothing, but she does not tell him to stop, and that will have to be enough.

“The war has not been easy,” Ferdinand continues, “but our desertion numbers are practically nonexistent. Your soldiers believe in you, my lady, and they deserve to be shown that you believe in them as well.”

“None of us disagree with you,” Dorothea says, “but is all this leadup really necessary?”

Ferdinand deflates slightly - he had been enjoying his speech. “We should have a banquet. Nothing ostentatious, but something to show our army that we value them.”

“You think that’ll be better than a win in battle?” Caspar scoffs, crossing his arms.

“Not all of us are brutes,” Linhardt interjects. “A day off would be much better.”

“A day off,” Ferdinand says tersely, straightening in his saddle, “isn’t sustainable to winning a war.”

“I think a day off sounds nice,” Bernadetta says wistfully. “Time to sit and not talk to anyone sounds amazing!”

Seeming to sense that they’re all only a moment away from losing whatever thread of productivity this conversation has, Edelgard clears her throat. “You think a banquet is the best way to solve this problem?” 

Ferdinand nods, looking over at her from atop Renaltia. This will work. He is sure of it. “There are plenty of other ways to show one’s troops that they are appreciated, but this is the simplest way of doing so, and has the added benefit of boosting morale. Our people believe in you - as they should - but war is difficult, and they miss their families, their lives, days where they do not fear that they will not live to see the next. A night thrown in their honor would go a long way.”

“You would have us waste precious resources on this?” Hubert interjects, “For a plan of yours that may not even have its intended effect? Tell me, how are we to guard this event? How are we to prevent our foes from attending? We do not have the luxury of knowing every person in our forces.”

It is as if they are not listening to him at all! Ferdinand sets his jaw. He must make them understand. “I am not proposing that we throw a masquerade! Or that we throw open our doors to any and all who wish to join! I am simply saying, that our troops need proof to know that their efforts are appreciated, and that they are not in vain!” He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. No one will listen to him if he is not composed. “They see Edelgard, and they believe in her, but they rarely feel seen by her. The state of one’s army is important. The state of one’s citizens are important. We often speak of the future, of what we will do once the war is over, of what kind of society we will build. From what you have said, my lady, I believe that the civilization you are trying to build rewards merit above all else. This is a fine way to set a precedent.”

“You still have not answered my question,” Hubert interrupts, again. “Who is to guard this banquet? How much of the army will be admitted? We do not have the resources to cater to them all. And of course you do not _plan_ on the attendance of any of our foes, but how will you be able to ensure such a thing? How will you justify to the troops that some of them are to stand guard and watch their comrades merriment?” Hubert thinks this is foolish, that much is clear. He can barely keep the sneer out of his voice. That is fine, as far as Ferdinand is concerned. He only has to convince Edelgard, damn the rest of them.

Ferdinand is quiet for a moment, mulling over the possibilities. “We do not want this to be an especially grand event. The troops stationed at the monastery will attend, and the others will hear of the event and be pleased to have a ruler who cares so much. As for the matter of guards,” he hesitates.

“We will guard it,” he says at last. “You are correct Hubert, it is not fair for some of our forces to be working on a night where the rest are… letting their hair down, so to speak. We will guard it. Us, and some of the higher ranking officials, those who do not have the same kind of need for such an event.” He nods decisively, “That will be good for the troops as well. To see that their leaders care for them enough to forgo merriment at their expense.” He looks at Edelgard, trying to make her understand from his expression alone that this is for her, above all else. “This is the most efficient way to boost morale, and it does not have to be expensive! I am not proposing a feast. A banquet requires food, of course, but we do not need anything especially magnificent. A hot meal will be much appreciated, regardless of how fine the ingredients are.”

Byleth nods solemnly as he finishes speaking. “You’ve thought this through,” she says, as mildly as ever. Her approval means that this is a good idea - and he knows that it is. Hopefully Edelgard can see that as well.

“Lady Edelgard will be in attendance, of course,” Hubert says.

Ferdinand nods, “We cannot expect her to be one of the guards. The risk is too great. A few of us will remain with her.”

Dorothea hums, “We could have music. Maybe a little bit of dancing?” she says, and for a moment she looks like the girl Ferdinand knew back during their days at the academy, young and vibrant and fresh off of the opera.

Ferdinand beams, “Even better! You can sing for us.”

Lady Edelgard’s expression finally - finally! - smooths out, a small smile gracing her face. “Very well Ferdinand.” She says, “It will be… nice, to have something to look forward to. Work with Hubert to ensure that security plans are up to his caliber, and then have your finished proposal to me by the end of the week.”

The rest of the march back to Garreg Mach is livelier, with Ferdinand and the others discussing ideas for the banquet. The menu needs to be considered, of course, and which generals should and shouldn’t be enlisted to help them. By the time they arrive, they have an almost complete proposal outlined. They are so used to outlining battle plans together; a banquet is a much nicer thing to plan. Ferdinand resolves to force them all to plan a ball together after the war is over. For now though, this will have to do.

-

Ferdinand has been up later than usual every night since he suggested the banquet. It is no small feat to scrape one together on such short notice, but regardless he is determined to make sure it is up to the standards of nobility. As he walks past Hubert’s office, on his way to finally get some sleep, a dim glow shines out from under the crack in the door. It is not an unusual occurrence - Hubert’s nights have only gotten later as the war has gone on- but despite himself, Ferdinand pauses. He stands at Hubert’s door for a moment, listening for any sound from within, then gives in to his impulses and knocks.

A pause, long enough that Ferdinand begins to think Hubert will not answer, perhaps is not even in, but then the door slowly swings open. Ferdinand recognizes the moment Hubert realizes it’s him at the door and not some assassin, for the door, which had only been opened a crack, swings all the way open.The glow from the lit candles on Hubert’s desk glints off of something in Hubert's hand, but the item disappears back up his sleeve before Ferdinand is entirely sure what it is. 

“Ferdinand.” Hubert says stiffly, “Is something the matter?”

“It is quite late.”

Hubert arches an eyebrow. “Indeed.”

“I was surprised to see a light still.”

Hubert sighs, “Ferdinand, do you need something? It is, as you say, late, and I have better things to be doing.”

Ferdinand had been planning to go to bed, but something about the edge in Hubert’s voice makes him falter. He does not want to leave Hubert alone, he realizes, to the silence of the nighttime monastery and whatever work he has that needs finishing. “Would you like company? I was planning to retire to my rooms to finish up a few things for the banquet, but if you are still awake as well…” He trails off, unsure of how to finish his thought.

Hubert gazes at him for a moment. “I am not averse to the idea. Are you going to cease your prattle long enough for me to get any work done?”

Ferdinand beams at Hubert before he can help himself. Five years ago, he would never have imagined that spending time with Hubert would bring him happiness, or that he would choose to do so willingly. But, times change. “I doubt it,” he says, and a faint smile crosses Hubert’s face as he stands aside to let him in. 

When Ferdinand finally retires for the night, it is far beyond any reasonable hour, but his step is lighter and his smile is easier. One night with less sleep is a small price to pay for such a pleasant evening.

-

Planning for the banquet is proceeding at a steady clip, and as the date grows closer Ferdinand and Edelgard have one final meeting to discuss the financial schematics. They’ve been in her office for the better part of an evening, and although they had started off productively, the hours have worn on, and they’ve started to veer more and more towards discussion of personal matters. Ferdinand can hardly remember what they have accomplished at this point.

They’d ordered tea and biscuits back at the beginning of the meeting, but their drinks have long gone cold and only the less desirable flavours remain. Goddess, how long has he been here? He’d had other plans for the rest of his evening.

“I should be going,” he says.

Edelgard sighs, “It’s gotten quite late, hasn’t it? We’ll need to finish this up another time.”

Ferdinand taps his nails against the edge of his teacup. “This was a pleasant evening,” he says after a moment. “We did not get as much done as we likely should have, but it was a nice change of pace. We should take tea together more often.”

Edelgard’s smiles, bright and surprised, “We should. There are many things about this war I regret, but I’m glad it’s let us grow closer.”

Unbidden, his mind flits to Hubert. “That can be said about all of the Black Eagles, I should think. This war has brought us all together.”

Edelgard smile fades from her face, replaced by its usual somber look as she nods her agreement. Ferdinand bows and turns to leave, already thinking of the paperwork that awaits him in his quarters, unable to be put off until the next morning.

“You’re not going to break his heart, are you?” Edelgard says, her voice soft.

Ferdinand freezes, his back to her. “I have no idea what it is you are speaking of.”

A sigh, and then a rustle of skirts as she gets up and walks over to him. Edelgard takes his hand very gently, clasping it between both of hers. “Ferdinand. Look at me.”

What sort of follower is he if he refuses an order this simple? “My lady,” he says, and turns to face her. Edelgard looks tired, for lack of a better word, all traces of her smile and mirth from mere moments ago gone under the weight of her exhaustion. It is funny how he has never noticed before. Part of him suspects that this is a carefully sharpened weapon, existing only to make him feel even more tender towards her, to want to please her even more. Edelgard has always excelled at these sorts of games, and this is yet another sharpened knife, sliding neatly between his ribs. He wishes he minded more, but in her hands these weapons are deft, painless.

“Ferdinand,” she says. “You are my friend. I have always considered you as such, even in our more foolish days.” It is kind of her to say, to spare him the embarrassment of their days at the academy. “But you could never be what he is to me. No one could.”

“I am not asking to.”

A slight frown crosses her lips. “You could never,” she repeats. “Hubert is the most precious person in the world to me.” Her grip on his hand tightens. “All I am saying, is that he does not have the wherewithal to withstand a heartbreak.”

“My lady,” Ferdinand begins, “I have no intention of doing so.”

Edelgard sighs, withdrawing her hand before he can truly work himself up into the grand speech he is already preparing. “When Hubert was ten,” she says gently, “during the Insurrection of the Seven, my uncle travelled to the Kingdom for a time, and took me with him. The things that happened there…” she shakes her head. “It was horrific. For Hubert, it is to this day, his ultimate failing. It was the first - and only - time we had been separated for any significant amount of time.” She hesitates. “It was over a decade ago, and it still wears on him.”

Ferdinand takes in the slant of Edelgard’s mouth. It is costing her something to tell him this, he realizes, and he wishes there was anything he could offer in return. “I understand.”

She shakes her head. “You don’t, but at least you are trying. That will have to be enough.”

“Lady Edelgard,” he says, and before he can think the action fully through he is dropping to one knee, his head bowed before her. “On my word as a noble, as your friend, as a citizen of the empire, I will _cherish_ him. Any heartbreak between the two of us will be his doing, I assure you.” He feels cruel, placing the mangled burden that is his feelings for Hubert into her hands. She is already carrying so much; he should not make her bear the weight of this affection as well.

There is a long pause, and then Edelgard very delicately rests a hand on the top of his head. “Oh, Ferdinand.” She whispers, “You are so like him sometimes. Please, get up.”

He rises from his position below her, feeling foolish. “I will take my leave,” he says, and prides himself for not tripping over his words for the fool he has surely made of himself.

To his surprise, Edelgard is smiling, a barely there wisp of a thing, but a smile nonetheless. “You do him good,” she says, “and I am beyond grateful for it.”

There is no answer to that other than the traitorous beating of his heart and the sudden warmth in his cheeks. He bows sharply, turns, and leaves.

-

The night of the banquet comes, and despite Hubert’s incessant concerns for their security, the night, so far, passes smoothly. Ferdinand and Byleth stand guard together at the door, and although he’d hoped to have time for a grand heart to heart with her, they have been ever busy checking guests. Ferdinand would never forgive himself if someone dangerous were to slip in with the crowd. This banquet was his idea; if anything goes wrong, it is unequivocally his fault.

Finally, they have a moment’s respite, and Ferdinand leans against the wall, glad for the chance to catch his breath. It is a lovely night, and despite the fact that it was on such short notice, someone took the time to string up some extra heraldry of the empire. Dorothea’s voice, high and clear, drifts through the open doors behind him, and it carries with it such a sense of possibility and change. It imbues him with a sudden rush of pride in the world they are trying to build.

On the other side of the doors, the professor turns, looking over her shoulder. A laugh rings out, and the attendants cheer and clap as Dorotha’s song ends. “I am sorry you are stuck out here with me,” Ferdinand says.

The professor shakes her head; she has been even more quiet than usual this evening. “This is the best place to keep watch,” she replies.

“You do not have to watch over us every second of every day,” Ferdinand teases. “We survived five years without you, or have you forgotten?”

She doesn’t answer, instead turning back out towards the monastery grounds and squaring her shoulders.

“I apologize,” Ferdinand says. “That was the wrong thing to say. We… I am glad you are back, professor. Truly. Even though we managed to stay alive, we all feel safer with you there to watch our backs.”

The corner of Byleth’s mouth quirks slightly.

“Edelgard was heartbroken when we could not find you,” Ferdinand continues. “It is a testament to her dedication to her cause that she was able to go on.” There is still no reply, so he keeps talking, eager to fill the silence. “We are lucky that you chose the Black Eagles.”

“I am the lucky one,” Byleth says at last, still looking down the path leading into the dining hall. Her face is expressionless, as if she is one of the statues standing guard over the monastery and its former students. Such a thought is not too far off from the truth.

“Do you regret it?” Ferdinand asks. “We have killed so many that we used to know. It does not wear on you?”

Byleth touches her left hand to her cheek, considering. “I would not turn my back on Edelgard even if it would have spared some of them.”

It is an unusually passioned response, from her. “She feels the same, I am sure.”

“Perhaps,” Byleth concedes. “These things take time.”

Ferdinand brushes a hand through his bangs, straightening his posture and trying to imitate the perfect picture of a guard that is Byleth. “Yes,” he says, trying to put all thoughts out of his mind except for keeping his people safe, “they certainly do.”

-

The guests have long gone, and although the rest of the Black Eagles stayed to help tidy up, they too will have surely gone to bed by now. Ferdinand lingers on the terrace outside of the dining hall, catching his breath for a moment. Before heading back to his room, he hears footsteps behind him. He turns, half ready for it to be an assassin, sent to disrupt their night and yank this temporary peace out from under them, but it is only Hubert.

Still an assassin, of sorts, but one with no reason to destroy him. Ferdinand allows himself to relax, and turns back to looking out at the night sky.

“I am surprised to find you still awake,” Hubert says, coming to stand next to him.

Ferdinand shrugs, “I confess I do not want the night to end. It was a pleasant respite from our normal obligations.”

It is a lovely evening, and the moon’s light glints off the still water, shining silvery and dizzying. Hubert’s gaze is fixed on the moon’s reflection in the water, and of what he ponders, Ferdinand has no guess, “You were correct in your assumption that it would improve the morale of the army. I daresay that they will be speaking of the event for days to come.”

Ferdinand ducks his head, “That sounded like a compliment, Hubert. I thought you promised to contain such matters to writing in the future?”

Hubert chuckles, the sound low and dark and warming Ferdinand’s bones nonetheless, “Ah, I did. Forgive me. Do you have paper, so I can tell you what I thought of the night in earnest?”

Ferdinand’s heart is in his throat. Hubert is in a good mood, and it is going to be the death of him. His resolve to ignore this thing between them weakens every time they talk. “I-” he is not sure what he is going to say. His face is burning, and he looks away from Hubert, mirroring his stance and focusing instead on the water instead, as if it might provide some insights. “It is fortunate that the night went so smoothly,” Ferdinand continues, hoping to steer the conversation away from whatever it is they are doing now. “Although I admit, I was hoping there would be a chance for all of us to dance.”

Hubert grunts, “I’m aware.”

Ferdinand turns to him with a smile, “Is it such a crime? To want a chance to rejoice and dance? To want to see my friends happy?”

“I suppose not,” Hubert says. “It has been pleasant, to see Lady Edelgard so joyous.”

Hubert sounds almost wistful, and it brings a smile to Ferdinand’s face. They have both changed so much since their days at the academy. “I think she missed the professor most of all,” Ferdinand says, and Hubert nods in agreement. “I am sorry they did not get to dance, at least.” Ferdinand says, “But after the war, we will have plenty of time for dancing.”

“I try not to think about what will happen after the war,” Hubert says, voice low.

Some days the thought of what will happen after the war is all that keeps Ferdinand going. “Why?”

There is a long moment where Hubert does not answer, and some part of Ferdinand cannot help but think that it is because Hubert is so monstrous that he revels in all this bloodshed. It’s an awful thought, and yet he can’t stop himself from thinking it. “Lady Edelgard and I have been preparing for this war since we were children,” Hubert says. “There will be plenty of work to be done after it ends, but someday even that will cease. It is difficult to be certain of what will be left of us when it is over.”

Ferdinand doesn’t know what to do with such honesty. Every confession from Hubert feels like a gift, and he has nothing to repay him with. “There will be dancing,” he says. “And meals shared with friends, and Edelgard purging the rest of the rot from the empire. There will be early morning horseback rides and letters from Petra once she returns to Brigid. There will be tea with the professor and flowers in the garden and we will not be counting down the days to our next brush with death.”

Next to him, Hubert closes his eyes and tips his head back. Ferdinand can barely see in the dim light provided by the stars and moon, but he lets himself take in Hubert’s silhouette. He can just barely make out line of his throat and the curve of his cheekbone, and although is is not visible, he can imagine the brush of Hubert’s eyelashes against his cheek and the curl of his hair over his ear. He could reach out and touch him, and he is not entirely convinced that Hubert would be opposed to the idea. “Those are all fine things to look forward to.”

Ferdinand nods, swallowing around the sudden lump in his throat. “The war will end, and we will continue living.” Hubert doesn’t answer, and Ferdinand knows that he has failed him. There is something else that Hubert needs him to say, and he cannot for the life of him figure it out. “There is endless happiness in our future,” he says, and tries desperately to will it into truth.

He looks around wildly. There is no one else around to see him make a fool of himself, so this is surely as good a time as any. “There is happiness to look forward to even now,” he says. “Dance with me?”

Hubert opens his eyes and angles his body slightly towards Ferdinand, “The party is long since ended.”

“There is still music, is there not?” Ferdinand says. He’s trying to sound casual about it, but he is surely failing. He doesn’t feel casual, not even a little bit. His whole body feels taunt, and he’s pretty sure that his hands are shaking, but it’s not from the cold. 

Hubert’s scowl does not ease, “What music?”

“Well,” Ferdinand says, turning to face Hubert. “There is the sound of crickets, the wind in the trees, the lap of the pond against the docks…” His heartbeat is so loud he can almost taste it: this thudding in his ears might never cease.

“That is not much to dance to.” Hubert says, emotionless, “You cannot keep time to the wind.”

He’s already dug a grave this deep, it is pointless to pretend that he can hide his feelings. _Any heartbreak between the two of us will be his doing,_ he’d told Edelgard, and he intends to mean it. Ferdinand exhales slowly and takes Hubert’s hand, bringing it up to his chest. “There is always my heartbeat,” he says.

Hubert does not move. There is no flash of a knife to eviscerate him, no swirl of his cloak as he sweeps away. Ferdinand cannot see his expression, and he is perfectly content that way. He stands perfectly still with his hand pressed to Ferdinand’s chest, feeling his too-fast heartbeat. “Ferdinand,” he says, and a condemnation is sure to follow, Ferdinand can feel it. “Look at me.”

Ferdinand lifts his gaze to meet Hubert’s, expecting the worst. Instead, Hubert is looking back down at him with an expression that is very nearly devoid of malicious intent, red dusting his pale cheeks. “Hubert, your face,” Ferdinand says, “you are blushing.”

“I’m aware.” Hubert says. “Now, you said you wanted to dance? I’m afraid I’m not much of a leader,” Hubert says, bringing his free hand up to rest on Ferdinand’s shoulder.

Ferdinand’s mouth is dry, and he can still feel his blood roaring in his ears. His ridiculous heart is going to leap right out of his chest at this rate. He’s going to die in Hubert’s arms before they have even ever kissed and it will all be very poetic and tragic. Dorothea can sing about it at his funeral. It will make a splendid opera. He hopes everyone cries. “That is convenient, for I am not much of a follower,” he replies, bringing his left hand to rest at Hubert’s waist. It fit there better than he had thought it would.

Hubert chuckles, threading his fingers through Ferdinand’s right hand, the one that is still at his chest. “I remember.”

“Yes. Right.” Ferdinand says. He feels a fool. For all his talk of nobility and the values that it’s instilled in him, he cannot even woo one man correctly.

“Well?” Hubert says, looking down at him. Those three extras inches of height have never seemed so vast before. “You are supposed to be leading.”

“Right.” Ferdinand says again. He adjusts his grip on Hubert’s hand slightly, and then steps forward. 

In truth, Hubert is no dancer. It does not help that there is no music to guide them, no din of conversation to fall back on if the silence between them becomes overbearing. There is only Ferdinand’s heartbeat, still pounding in his ears louder than any drum he has ever heard. It has to be enough. It is enough.

Ferdinand could dance a waltz in his sleep, but he has never been more grateful to be awake before. There are no words between them, just this slow, halting dance. Ferdinand counts threes in his head and is sure that his rhythm is uneven, but that hardly matters in the wake of Hubert’s hand on his shoulder and Hubert’s hand clasped in his.

After a few minutes the line of tension in Ferdinand’s shoulders eases and he tightens his grip on Hubert’s hand. “You volunteered for the White Heron Cup back at the academy, did you not?” He asks, a smile curling across his face.

Hubert clears his throat, “I take it my dancing skills are not up to par.”

Ferdinand laughs, “They are perfectly adequate, to be truthful. Although I highly doubt that you would have beaten Felix.”

“Would you believe that perfectly adequate is the best my dancing has ever been called?” Hubert asks.

Ferdinand’s grin widens, “I am not surprised at all. Were I not such an outstanding partner, I daresay this would be disastrous.”

Hubert opens his mouth, presumably with some witty retort, but steps on Ferdinand’s foot before he can reply.

“Ah, I see it is no use,” Ferdinand says. “We will have to keep at it. Your dancing skills need much work, and I will bear the burden of being your teacher.”

To his surprise, Hubert does not continue their conversation. Instead, he slides his hand down from Ferdinand’s shoulder to his waist. “Must it always be this much of an event with you?” He says tonelessly, as if Ferdinand hadn’t frozen in place the second that Hubert’s hand moved.

“I-” Ferdinand opens his mouth and then closes it again.

Hubert looks pleased. “Have I rendered you speechless? Had I known it was this easy…”

Ferdinand licks his lips. Hubert’s eyes flick down when he does so and Ferdinand does not know how to process this emotion. He should say something, do something! He is Ferdinand von Aegir, and all it takes for him to lose himself is a gentle touch from Hubert.

“Dancing!” He says, “We were. Dancing.”

“You stopped,” Hubert replies, still looking obnoxiously unaffected.

Ferdinand still does not move, and Hubert squeezes his hand gently and lets go, setting his other hand on Ferdinand’s waist. Cautiously, as if he is approaching a horse that will flee if he moves too quickly, Ferdinand loops his arms around Hubert’s neck.

How it goes is this: Hubert says something that makes Ferdinand laugh, and Hubert’s arms tighten around Ferdinand’s waist, and they sway, lightly, in time with the gentle evening breeze. Ferdinand steps closer, rests his head on Hubert’s chest, and Hubert’s arms do not move from around his waist.

Ferdinand has had lovers, in the past, but they had always been flights of fancy, casual things for both parties. He has always assumed he will one day marry a girl with advantageous connections at his father’s behest, and that in time the two of them wouldgrow to love each other. But his father is imprisoned, and they are at war. Anything can happen. He has danced with plenty of pretty girls, has danced with Linhardt and Caspar before, but he has never danced like this, dancing simply for the excuse to be close to another. He has never been held simply for the sake of being held before. It makes him feel safe and care for in a way that, if he had any remaining sense of propriety, would concern him greatly. But now it seems that that there are few things more important than Hubert’s arms around his waist, the warmth from his palms seeping into Ferdinand’s bones. Hubert’s chin rests on top of his head and Ferdaind’s emotions swell so greatly that he feels he may choke on them. There is no plausible deniability about this sort of intimacy. 

He has no idea how long the two of them are outside, no idea what time it is when they finally pull apart. Hubert would tell how foolish he is to be so distracted by such a simple thing. Although - Hubert is still blushing, so perhaps not.

“It’s late,” Hubert says.

Ferdinand nods, “There will be much to do in the morning.”

Neither of them move. Ferdinand wishes he could suspend this moment and live in it forever, but he knows that, also, is foolish. The sun will rise, and he will be as hopelessly besotted with whichever version of Hubert he meets tomorrow as he is with the man in front of him right now.

“Goodnight,” Ferdinand says. As much as he would like to stay, time’s arrow marches forward, and they really do need to get some sleep before it’s too late.

Hubert smiles, barely there, but absolutely still a smile, “It certainly is.” 

Ferdinand’s resulting blush is hardly subtle, but he does not think Hubert minds. The flush on his cheeks lingers long after he has walked back to his room, and he wonders if Hubert suffers in the same way. In the morning, there will be reports to write and battalions to organize, but he can indulge in this soaring feeling in his chest for just a while longer. 


	5. Great Tree Moon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You are our friend,” Ferdinand replies, dropping onto the chair across from Hubert and leafing through one of the reports Hubert has left on the desk. 
> 
> “Friend,” Hubert repeats, as if he is speaking to himself.
> 
> “What?” Ferdinand says, “Do you disagree? I apologize if I have overstepped, but I feel enough time has passed in each other’s company for that to be true.”
> 
> Hubert sighs and sets down his quill, “How long do you intend to draw this out?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is a MILLION years late i am so so sorry!!!! this semester of college really through me for a loop and then i just had a terrible time getting this down but! it's done! all that's left is an epilogue which i really do think i will manage to get out on time!
> 
> thanks to everyone that comments, you all make me so happy :)

In eleven days, the Bladiddyd line will end. The knowledge thrums through the monastery like a sickness; they depart in eight days, and in eleven days they will strike down Dimitri. It all sounds very grand when Edelgard says it, but the Black Eagles remain apprehensive of the battle ahead.

The plans are drawn, and their course is set. They will march on the Tailtean Plains, and then continue onwards to the capital where they will find - and kill - Rhea. It should feel more like heresy, probably. 

Eleven days has never felt like such a short period of time before, but now it’s like they’re flying with the speed of a poison arrow. Ferdinand’s days pass by him in a whirlwind, and the mountain of work he has never lessens. If he is this busy, he cannot fathom how Edelgard and Hubert are fairing. Edelgard at least comes to meals, but it seems that Hubert has locked himself in his office, determined to finish every bit of work he has no matter how urgent it truly is. 

It simply will not do; Ferdinand has barely seen the man over the past few days. He stands up from where he’s bent over the desk in his room and resolves to check that Hubert has at least eaten something today.

The chill that has lingered over the monastery as of late has lifted sometime in the past few days, and so the evening is pleasant as Ferdinand makes his way up to the second floor of the monastery. “Hubert?” Ferdinand calls, knocking on the door to Hubert’s office.

"It’s unlocked,” comes the reply from within. It is such a simple gesture, but months ago Hubert would have answered the door himself, ready for an assassin to strike him down. He would never have considered to leave his office unlocked, even while still inside. Ferdinand bites back a smile at the thought. Although Hubert has never explicitly professed his trust in the Black Eagles Strike Force, his actions have shown his hand.

“Have you eaten dinner?” Ferdinand asks, closing the door behind him. It is odd, how quickly he has adjusted to it being Hubert’s office, instead of Seteth’s. He wonders if Seteth is dead - he never bothered to ask whether he made it out of the battle of Garreg Mach. It seemed insignificant, in the face of everything else that happened.

Hubert does not look up from his work, but the shadow of a smile crosses his face. “Lady Edelgard brought me dinner about an hour ago,” he says. “You both share the same concerns, it seems.”

“You are our friend,” Ferdinand replies, dropping onto the chair across from Hubert and leafing through one of the reports Hubert has left on the desk. 

“Friend,” Hubert repeats, as if he is speaking to himself.

“What?” Ferdinand says, “Do you disagree? I apologize if I have overstepped, but I feel enough time has passed in each other’s company for that to be true.”

Hubert sighs and sets down his quill, “How long do you intend to draw this out?”

“I- I can leave, if you’d like,” Ferdinand says, unsure of what exactly it is that Hubert is referring to.

“We march to the Tailtean Plains in days,” Hubert says. “The chances of us all living through such a fight are slim.”

“I am well aware,” Ferdinand replies. He is not sure what Hubert is leading up to.

“I do not intend to die with any regrets,” Hubert continues.

Ferdinand puts the report he’d been looking at down. “I do not intend to die at all.”

“Of course you don’t,” Hubert snaps, “but some of us are more realistic.”

“Hubert,” Ferdinand says, “what are you trying to say?”

Hubert sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. Ferdinand has never seen him so caught up in himself; it’s rather amusing. “I’m confessing my feelings to you.”

“Oh!” Ferdinand’s cheeks feel very warm all of a sudden. “Are you?”

“I’m trying to!” Hubert snaps, “You’re being difficult.”

Ferdinand can’t help but laugh at that - it’s a very Hubert response, to simultaneously scold him for being difficult and to declare his affections for Ferdinand. “And you are being purposefully vague.”

Hubert’s hand falls to rest on his desk and his eyes narrow in a glare. There is no romance in his gaze, but Ferdinand’s heart skips a beat nonetheless. “What do you want me to say?” He says, “That I think of you far more often than I should? That thoughts of you fill my waking hours?”

“That depends,” Ferdinand says, doing his best to keep his voice from quavering. His fingernails dig into the arm of the chair. “Is all of that true?”

Hubert makes a small sound of frustration, one that Ferdinand has heard dozens of times in meetings and in conversations with their friends, but never has it evoked the same sense of fondness that it does now. “Yes,” Hubert says. “That and more.”

Ferdinand covers his mouth with the back of his hand, trying to hide the smile that he knows he will not be able to keep under control. “Then tell me,” he says, trying not to sound giddy. Such emotion is unbecoming, and yet he can not find it in himself to care.

Hubert rises, his chair scrapes against the floor of the office as he crosses the room to kneel in front of Ferdinand.

“Hubert, please, get up,” Ferdinand says, his face flushing. “This is terribly improper.”

“The chances of us both living through what is to come are slim,” Hubert says again, taking Ferdinand’s hand in his. “This needs to be said before I am dead.”

Ferdinand couldn’t move if he wanted to - his entire world is reduced to the contact between his hand and Hubert’s. “Then say it,” he says, so quiet that he cannot tell if he had truly spoken at all.

“It has never before been like this,” Hubert begins. “I have carved a path of blood for Lady Edelgard, and I have done it gladly, but you…” Hubert lifts his head to meet Ferdinand’s eyes, and Ferdinand does not know what he had been expecting. There is no gentle blush on Hubert’s face, no soft look of fondness. No, it is something far more powerful - and far more frightening. The look in his eyes sets flame to whatever remained of Ferdinand's composure.

Hubert shakes his head, “I want to protect you. It is infuriating.”

Ferdinand’s heart jumps into his throat: his pulse thrums in his ears, loud and overbearing. “Protect me?”

Hubert bends his head, and this is all wrong. Hubert is Lady Edelgard’s. Ferdinand should not be privy to this vulnerable view of Hubert: down on his knees, his head bowed as if in prayer. The thought of Hubert praying would be amusing in any other situation.

“Protect me?” Ferdinand repeats, knowing that he sounds half-hysterical, “Hubert, what could you possibly think I need protecting from?”

At that, Hubert shudders, his head dropping to rest on Ferdinand’s knee. It seems only natural for Ferdinand to reach out and run his fingers through the hair on the crown of his head. The harsh line of Hubert’s shoulders eases slightly as he does so, and so Ferdinand does it again. “Me.” Hubert says at last, the word sounding like it has been torn out of him. “Me.”

For all his fine upbringing, Ferdinand has no words to rectify such a falsehood. He pulls gently on Hubert’s hair and when Hubert lifts his head, Ferdinand slides out of his chair to join him on the floor. “That is very funny,” he says, resting his hand on Hubert’s cheek. He keeps expecting Hubert to pull away, but he doesn’t. Hubert doesn’t move a muscle - Ferdinand swears he is not even breathing. He tightens his grip on Hubert’s hand slightly, and he cannot for the life of him imagine letting go now that he has been able to hold this bliss in his hands. Hubert’s gloves are softer than he expected, although he does not know why he is surprised by it. If he made his way through life constantly laying out a sheet of blood, he’d want the trappings to at least be comfortable. He squeezes Hubert’s hand gently, “I am not a delicate maiden. I can make my own choices, can I not?”

Hubert’s face looks like it is carved from stone. Ferdinand might think that he had committed some terrible transgression, if not for the fact that Hubert leans into the touch on his cheek, almost shyly -- like he couldn’t resist if he tried. This evening is uncharted territory and they are quickly moving from only unfamiliar to point they will not be able to come back from. When he thinks about it, Ferdinand finds he does not care at all. In the low light of Hubert’s office, there are plenty of better things to think about, such as the slope of Hubert’s cheekbones or the soft shadow that his eyelashes cast on his face. This close, he looks less and less like the monster others so often claim him to be. “Hubert,” Ferdinand says softly. “Look at me.”

Hubert’s eyes, which have been so determinedly fixated on the floor, dart up to meet his.“Ferdinand,” he says, and there is nothing soft about the way he says his name, but it still brings a smile to Ferdinand’s face.

“Have you considered,” Ferdinand says, bringing their joined hands up to his mouth and brushing his lips lightly over the knuckles of Hubert’s hand, “that I may not want to be protected?”

Hubert’s jaw works, and that look in his eyes has not dissipated. His indecision is striking; Ferdinand is not sure what Hubert is going to do next. “You should not speak of such things,” he says.

Ferdinand brings Hubert’s hand to his lips again, “Then stop me,” he prompts, his voice as gentle as he can keep it. Goddess, he really is treating Hubert like a horse. It is good that Hubert does not spend much time around Renaltia or he would surely object.

Hubert kisses him.

It is not exceptional, as far as first kisses go. No stars erupt behind Ferdinand’s eyes, and his heart, while beating wildly, does not feel as if it will burst. It is very gentle, and very careful, all things considered. Hubert’s lips against his are feather light, as if one of them might shatter under anything stronger. If he had to guess, Ferdinand thinks that Hubert’s touch will be the death of him no matter what form it comes in. Ferdinand opens his eyes - funny, he had not realized he had closed them - when Hubert pulls away, and Ferdinand smiles up at him, his face warm. 

“That was a more than adequate start,” Ferdinand says, “but I believe we can do better.”

Hubert ducks his head, a blush dusting his cheeks. Bashfulness is a nice look on Hubert, Ferdinand would like to see again. “Yes,” Hubert says, “I agree.”

They are still sitting on the floor of Hubert’s office, an absurdity that is not lost on Ferdinand. Two of the Imperial Army’s most esteemed generals, and yet they cannot even begin this dalliance in any sort of proper way. Hubert squeezes his hand, then releases it, hooking his hand around Ferdinand’s back and drawing him in closer. Ferdinand moves willingly, keeping his hand on Hubert’s cheek, stroking his thumb gently over his cheekbone. If he were more daring, he could move only a few inches, and he would be in Hubert’s lap, but there will be time for that later. Instead, he curls his free hand into the fabric of Hubert’s jacket. He feels dreadfully out of his depth; he does not know the etiquette for this sort of scenario. In all his other affairs, Ferdinand has taken the lead. There’s been at least a month of courtship, followed by a very chaste, proper first kiss. Hubert has rather thrown a wrench in things.

“There,” Hubert says, leaning forward. His mouth just a hair’s breadth away from Ferdinand’s, but he cannot find it in himself to move forward. He is pinned by Hubert’s gaze. “That should be more suitable.” Hubert squeezes his waist, and Ferdinand is unable to think of anything other than what he wants to do to him.

Ferdinand’s throat is dry, “Please stop talking.”

Hubert’s smile is sinister, but it is there nonetheless, and that is more than enough. “As you wish,” he says, and bends down to kiss him again.

This time they are less cautious and more exploratory. Hubert’s mouth against his is soft and careful, and Ferdinand’s eyes flutter closed in the wake of such attention. He tilts his head further into the kiss, tightening his grip on Hubert’s shirt. Hubert hugs his arms firm and unyielding around Ferdinand’s waist, and Ferdinand opens his mouth into the kiss. 

“I was going to court you,” Ferdinand says once they finally part. “I had plans for after the war ended.”

“Have you not been courting me all this time?”

Ferdinand laughs and drops his head to Hubert’s shoulder, “This is all wrong,” he insists. “I had plans. There were going to be flowers. Love letters. It was all going to be very proper.”

Hubert kisses him again, slower this time. “I don’t care,” he says, and Ferdinand finds that he does not either.

-

“It’s funny,” Bernadetta says, brushing her bangs out of her face. Save for Hubert, Edelgard, and the Professor, all of them sort through the strike force’s gear, making sure they have enough for everyone if something happens to break.

Dorothea stops humming under her breath, “What is, Bern?”

Bernadetta flushes, but doesn’t back down. Sometime during the war she had stopped second-guessing every other word, and although the change was gradual, Ferdinand wonders how he could have possibly missed it. “I thought for sure we were going to die during this war, but-” she shakes her head, “I think we’re going to win.”

The wonder in Bernadetta’s tone is heart-warming, but even more so is that fact that Ferdinand finds himself nodding. “It does not do to be overconfident,” he says, “but I believe that our chances of success are high.”

Dorothea tucks her hair behind her ears, leaning forward to rest her hand on her chin. “What are we going to do with ourselves once this is all over?”

“I’m going to travel the world,” Caspar says at once, so self-assuredly that Ferdinand does not have it in him to argue. “Linhardt’s coming with me.”

“I am?” Linhardt says, frowning.

Caspar nods, frenetic, “Yeah! I thought I asked you?” If it were five years ago, Ferdinand would mark Caspar’s forgetfulness as nothing more, but they have been through so much together, and he now recognizes the nervous edge in his voice, the way his eyes dart around the room as he speaks. Caspar must have been terribly worried that Linhardt would say no.

“You didn’t,” Linhardt says, voice flat, “but it’s not as if I have anything better to do.”

Caspar smiles, and goes back to polishing his gauntlets, shy in a way that Ferdinand has never seen before.

“I will be returning to Brigid,” Petra says, a wistful smile on her face. He will miss her every day that she is gone, but she will be a good queen, the kind they will tell stories about for centuries.

“I do not think I intend to go anywhere,” Ferdinand says, and is surprised when Dorothea reaches out and squeezes his hand.

“We’ll visit, don’t worry,” she says. “Petra and I will send so many letters from Brigid that you’ll be sick of reading them. We’ll have cut down a whole forest.”

“I will hold you to that,” he says. “No one makes me laugh so often as you.”

“I’ll be here too,” Bernadetta says, absolute in her conviction. “I-I’m done hiding in my estate all the time. I want to be here, with you guys! I’ll visit all the time!” She pumps her arms, once, stomping her foot for emphasis. It’s adorable, although Ferdinand knows she is trying to look serious.

“We should keep our promise,” Ferdinand says. “In five years, we will all meet up again, only this time it will be at the palace.”

“Oh, that’s a lovely idea!” Dorothea says, touching her hand to her cheek. “Like the pact we made during the ball!”

Ferdinand nods, his chest tight with emotion. “I hope we will see each other before then, but this will ensure that we are all together again.”

Bernadetta smiles, “That sounds nice! I promise I’ll leave the house for that!”

Caspar throws an arm around Linhardt’s shoulders, jostling him. Linhardt looks markedly less annoyed than Ferdinand would expect, and doesn’t push the arm off of him. “We’ll be there!” Caspar declares, and Linhardt rolls his eyes, but does not contradict him.

He loves them all so much, he does not know how he will bear it when they are not together everyday. “Then it is decided. I will make sure Hubert and Edelgard are aware of our promise.”

In the morning, they march to meet Dimitri. But at present, there is only the six of them, promising once again to stand by each other’s sides.

-

They leave for the Tailtean Plains in the morning and Ferdinand worries that the stress might kill Hubert before the enemy even gets a chance. They’ve been working in Hubert’s office for the past few hours, Ferdinand outlines plans for the education system he’d proposed to Edelgard and Hubert does goddess knows what. The office is quiet and still, and Ferdinand thinks that if he wanted to he could fall asleep here, listening to the sound of Hubert’s quill scratching against his paper. It’s a sound he’s come to associate more and more with safety, and thought of that both frightens and excites him - it implies a long future ahead of them, full of domesticity and shared evenings.

He sneaks another glance at Hubert, who frowns at his reports like they will be the next thing he cuts down. There’s a crease in his forehead and Ferdinand has an inane urge to reach out and smooth it with his thumb. He knows that Edelgard is not sleeping well, and he cannot imagine that Hubert is either. “Hubert?” He asks, and watched Hubert’s grip on his quill tighten, his knuckles going white.

Hubert does not respond, so Ferdinand sighs heavily, tipping his head back to look at the ceiling. “Hubert,” he repeats, and although he cannot see Hubert’s expression, he is sure it is an amusing one. There is still no reply, and Ferdinand slumps back further into his chair.

The stress of the war has pulled Hubert so taught that he may snap clean in half any second. Ferdinand feels stripped of every feeling but a pervasive one of exhaustion. He is so tired, and he knows the same is true of Hubert. If only he knew a way to pull some of that tension out of Hubert, ease the lines of his face. “Hubert,” he says a third time, drawing his name out a few extra syllables.

Hubert rewards his efforts with a huff of annoyance. “If I answer you, will you be quiet long enough for me to get something done?”

Ferdinand considers. It’s late, easily well past midnight, and they have more to do in the morning before they leave. “It depends on how long you plan to continue working.”

Hubert grunts, “Until my work is done.”

“I thought you said that your work is never done?”

“Then I suppose I will never stop working.”

That will not do. “You will die from exhaustion before you get half of it done,” Ferdinand insists. “When was the last time you slept?”

A pause. Hubert is considering his words, which is in and of itself a victory. “I have been… going without lately.”

“You are no good to Edelgard if you are dead,” Ferdinand says softly.

Hubert closes his eyes. “That is not true. There are certainly futures where my death would serve her cause.”

“Fine then,” Ferdinad says, “you are no good to me if you are dead.”

“Such sentiments are foolish,” Hubert says. “I am not planning on dying, but the thought of you will not save me on the battlefield tomorrow.”

“Now that is a foolish sentiment,” Ferdinand replies, standing and walking over to Hubert’s desk. “Hubert,” he says, quiet as a promise.

Hubert raises his head to look him in the eye and Ferdinand smiles at him, uncomplicated and pleased. Hubert does not smile back at him - Hubert rarely smiles back at him - but the lines on his face ease, and that is better than any of Hubert’s reluctant smiles by far. “You look tired,” Hubert says, taking one of his hands in his own.

Ferdinand laughs, “You are one to talk, my dear.” Hubert flushes a lovely shade of pink at the endearment, something Ferdinand will have to remember for later. But his goals for this evening are simple: Hubert needs to rest. “Thoughts of you will keep me safe,” he says, softly.

“We both know that’s not true,” Hubert says as he rises and walks around his desk, stepping into Ferdinand’s space. “If anything, your affections for me make you an even likelier target.”

Ferdinand leans up to kiss him - Hubert is just barely tall enough that he has to stretch up to do so, something that delights Hubert and irritates Ferdinand to no end. As soon as their lips touch, Hubert’s hands come to rest on his hips. It is sweet; Hubert is always holding him when they kiss, as if he is convinced that Ferdinand will disappear if he doesn’t establish a point of contact..

Hubert takes a step forward, crowding Ferdinand against his desk. “And here I thought you were trying to get me to sleep,” he says, voice low.

Ferdinand flushes and bites his lip. “I was! I am! You are distracting me.”

Hubert laughs and brings his hand up to rest on Ferdinand’s jaw. “This is distracting? I have not even done anything yet.”

Yet has never seemed such a lovely word before, but Ferdinand shakes his head. “You need to rest. There will be a time for such things later, after the war.”

“We could die in the morning,” Hubert says, leaning forward to kiss the underside of Ferdinand’s jaw. “If I must stop working, I’d rather spend it doing something… enjoyable.”

“Enjoyable,” Ferdinand repeats, tipping his head back to give Hubert better access to his neck. “You need to sleep,” he says, but he does not push Hubert away.

“Must I?” Hubert says, his breath hot against Ferdinand’s neck.

A true noble would have stronger resolve in the face of temptation, most likely. But then again, under Edelgard’s new world, there will no longer be such a thing as a true noble. Ferdinand sighs and closes his eyes. “But you will -” he breaks off, inhaling sharply at Hubert bites at his neck. “You will sleep after, yes?”

Hubert hums, standing up straight to kiss Ferdinand again. “If it will get you to stop your snivelling, I suppose I could stand to rest for a few hours.”

Ferdinand smiles into the kiss, pleased in his victory. “Very well. To bed?”

-

Ferdinand wakes early in the morning with a heavy weight on his chest. He blinks, his eyes still bleary with sleep, unable to fully parse where he is. His bed is far more uncomfortable than he remembers, and the sheets are the wrong color. Next to him, Hubert shifts, and Ferdinand tightens his hold on the other man. Of course; he is in Hubert’s chambers, not his own. He’s warm in a way that makes him want to slip back into sleep, and Hubert has pressed himself against him at some point during the night. His hair is disheveled and in sleep, Hubert looks relaxed in a way Ferdinand has never had the luxury of seeing in the daylight. Someday, after the war, there will be time aplenty to ensure that such things become more commonplace.

One of Ferdinand’s arms is pinned under Hubert, and when he moves it to try to get himself free Hubert curls further into him, shoving his face more firmly into Ferdinand’s neck. It’s unbearably sweet, and something that Ferdinand is sure that Hubert would vehemently deny were he to bring it up when they both awake. It is still early; the sun has just started to crest over the horizon, and although they have to prepare for the battle in mere hours, he can enjoy this tepid peace for a while longer.

Ferdinand shifts to kiss Hubert gently on the crown of his head, then closes his eyes and lets the sound of Hubert’s breathing lull him back to sleep.

-

Dimitri’s death is not the kind of thing they will recite in songs. It is decisive and heartbreaking; Edelgard kills him in one swift blow, and walks away from his corpse with her head held high. If any words pass between the two of them in the moments before her victory, they may as well have died with Dimitri.

After that, the war is a simple thing.

They march to meet Rhea, and the battle is swifter than Ferdinand expected. The Immaculate One looks nothing like a saint when Edelgard and the Professor strike her down. Holiness, it seems, does not cling to the dead. 

Afterwards, Byleth crumples, the Sword of the Creator slipping from her grasp and thudding to ground, nestled among the blood and gore and corpses. Edelgard rushes to her side, clutching her to her chest like something sacred. There is a long, terrible moment where it looks as if the professor is dead and their victory will be forever tainted, but then Byleth lifts her head.

Ferdinand does not hear the words spoken between Edelgard and Byleth, nor does he wish to - the looks on their faces already make him feel like he’s intruding.

Edelgard throws her arms around Byleth and the professor presses their foreheads together. They are both covered in the blood of something that used to be, and the moment is like something out of an opera. Ferdinand turns towards Dorothea to say just that, but she has thrown her arms around Petra and is hugging the other woman tight. Petra’s face is shining with joy, and she has lifted Dorothea clear off the ground in her excitement.

Byleth and the Professor stand, and Ferdinand watches in amazement as the pale green leaches out of Byleth’s hair, returning to the dark blue color it had been when they’d first met. The entire shape of the world has changed in the span of a few hours, and yet all Ferdinand can think of are his friends.

There are speeches to be made and declarations to sign, but before all of that, the Imperial army takes a moment to count their dead and finally allow themselves to dream of a future. Ferdinand is a little ways from the others, sitting on the steps of a half-destroyed home. He is lost in his own thoughts, but he still lifts his head when he hears footsteps approaching. 

“I am not sure what happens now,” Hubert confesses, sitting down next to him.

They are both disgusting, but that does not stop Ferdinand from wanting to kiss Hubert. “We are going to head to Enbarr,” Ferdinand begins, “and Edelgard will bring forth a new world.”

“I am well aware,” Hubert says dryly, cutting him off before he can get further into his speech. “That’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” Ferdinand says, unable to inject any sort of cadance or life into the question. He is tired, and he can think of nothing he would like more than to rest his head on Hubert’s shoulder and drift off to sleep, their duties be damned.

“I am Lady Edelgard’s servant first and foremost,” Hubert says, looking off into the distance. “But if you would have me, everything else I would devote to you.”

Ferdinand has forgotten how to breathe. “I have no desire for you to be my servant.”

“You would make me say it?” Hubert asks, “You are a fool, von Aegir.” Ferdinand’s whole world has been reduced to Hubert’s profile in the dying light. The battlefield seems but a distant memory compared to this perfect, blissful moment. Hubert looks over at him, and Ferdinand smiles back at him, as easy as breathing. Hubert sighs, sounding very put-upon, “Everything that I am able to give is yours. Not as a servant or out of a sense of duty, but as equals.”

Ferdinand closes his eyes, willing this moment between them to last for an eternity. “And I will be yours,” he says, closing the gap between them.


	6. Great Tree Moon, 1186

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) it's done!!! wild! this fic has been my baby for so long and i genuinely loved writing it so much! there is more fic in the works (and probably more ferdibert as well!) but thank you to everyone who commented and/or left kudos - i read every single comment and they all make me absurdly happy!
> 
> and thanks ofc to my darling girlfriend who beta read every chapter and also had to hear me talk about this fic endlessly

_ Dearest Dorothea, _

__ _ I apologize for the lapse in response. Things in Enbarr are quite frantic with the war’s one-year anniversary approaching. We all understand why you are not here, of course, but I miss you more and more with each passing day. Brigid is lucky, to have a jewel such as yourself living in their midst. _

__ _ What else shall I tell you? Edelgard and Byleth continue to be the happiest married couple to ever grace this earth. Edelgard is a just emperor, and her rule is all the stronger for Byleth’s presence at her side. I can hear you asking already - Hubert and I have no plans for matrimony at the moment, and I promise that you will be the first person I tell should anything change. _

__ _ Speaking of, how is our dear Petra doing? Every piece of news we hear from Brigid seems cause for rejoice - it truly is entering a golden age under Petra’s rule. I know you and her have grown even closer as of late: you will keep me updated on that front, yes? I am well aware that it has been some months since we’ve seen each other in person, but you are one of my dearest friends and I expect to be kept up to date on your personal life. _

__ _ It seems that I write to you too often; I feel I will soon run out of things to say, and yet I have scarcely written a thing! If only I was able to space out my letters to you more but, alas, we both know that will not be the case. I simply cannot help myself. _

__ _ Renaltia is well! I am still trying to convince Hubert to warm up to her, although I fear my efforts may be in vain. They tolerate each other just fine, but she bit him the other day and he has still not forgiven her. Pathetic, no? One of the most feared men in the empire, capable of all sorts of terrible things in the name of Lady Edelgard, and yet a horse nips him and he cannot overcome it. He is fortunate that I still love him, despite his inability to make nice with my lady. _

__ _ I will write you again after the celebrations for the end of the war. I am not certain precisely who will attend: Edelgard has talked Bernadetta into visiting, but there is not yet any word from Linhardt or Caspar. If they do happen to show, it will doubtlessly be a late and dramatic entrance. _

__ _ Hubert and I have been discussing a holiday, although not a long one, and likely wrapped up in a diplomatic mission. Let me rephrase: Edelgard and I think that it would be good for Hubert to get away for a bit and we believe a diplomatic mission to Brigid might be a more than adequate chance for that. I would not mind a brief respite either, I must admit. I do not know how you are faring but it is… difficult, to think that this time last year we were still trapped in the midst of the war. I know it weighed heavily on you, and lately I have not been able to stop thinking about it. I think I will have nightmares about it for the rest of my life, but at the very least we all made it out alive. I wish the same were true of our former friends from other houses. _

__ _ I digress, I did not mean to turn so morose. It is hard, this time of year. I know you understand. I should be going, although we both know I would much rather sit here and write you a much longer letter than I am capable of. Let me know if Petra would be amiable to Hubert and I visiting for a diplomatic venture. _

__ _ Yours as always, _

__ _ Ferdinand von Aegir _

Ferdinand sets down his quill just as the door opens, although he doesn’t bother lifting his head. He would recognize Hubert’s footsteps anywhere, and especially here, in their shared quarters. It had seemed foolish, to share a room immediately after this thing between them had truly started to blossom, but in the weeks after the war, Ferdinand was grateful for it. They all had nightmares now, and even if he still is not privy to the details of Hubert’s, he has grown familiar with the weight of Hubert’s head on his chest after a particularly trying night. They are all recovering as best they can. 

Hubert closes the door behind him with a click, then strides over to where Ferdinand sits. He stops behind Ferdinand and leans down, kissing the top of his head. Ferdinand smiles; no matter how frequently Hubert remains sweet and gentle in his affections, he does not think he will ever truly get used to it. 

“You are back early,” Ferdinand says.

The bags under Hubert’s eyes are more pronounced than usual, but that is not unusual after a night’s work. Destroying Those Who Slither in the Dark is rotten and tiresome work, but there is no one else Hubert would trust with such things. The war has been over for almost a year, and soon Hubert and Edelgard’s will draw to a close as well. There is much that he can not - or will not - tell Ferdinand of his missions, but Ferdinand knows they wear on him. After the war first ended, Hubert was gone almost nightly, but his outings have become fewer the more time has passed. He knows that he and Edelgard have almost done what it is they set out to, and that afterwards Edelgard’s reforms can begin in earnest.

Hubert presses his face into the crown of his head, “Are you complaining? I can leave if you wish.”

Ferdinand smiles, “It is not like you to seek out compliments so obviously. You know very well I do not wish you to leave.”

“I suppose I do,” Hubert says, looking down at him. There is no expression on his face, something that Ferdinand finally understands is what contentment looks like on Hubert. “What were you working on?”

“I was writing to Dorothea,” he replies, “updates about the upcoming anniversary, and she insists that I send her every piece of gossip I hear.”

“Anything worth noting?” Hubert asks.

Ferdinand shrugs, “No, not particularly. Come sit, I missed you.” He threads his fingers through Hubert’s, then tugs, pulling him sideways onto his lap. Hubert scowls, but his grip on Ferdinand’s hand tightens, and he goes where he is wanted without complaint. 

Hubert is very still, and Ferdinand bites back the urge to laugh. For all that they have been intimate together, Hubert is still so odd about affection for affection’s sake. He always seems to think that Ferdinand will change his mind and no longer wish to touch him, as if Ferdinand would rather be doing anything other than exactly that. A long moment passes, and then Hubert rests his head on Ferdinand’s shoulder, his face pressed into the junction of his neck and shoulder.

" Dorothea is convinced we will be married any day now,” Ferdinand says.

Hubert laughs, his breath warm on Ferdinand’s skin, “As if you would propose without telling her beforehand.”

“Oh, I am the one who must propose?” Ferdinand says, trying to sound affronted. He is disgustingly fond of this man, truly.

“It seems only fair,” Hubert says stiffly, “I kissed you first.”

Ferdinand presses his face into the top of Hubert’s head to swallow his laughter, “Yes, I suppose you did.” He lets the silence settle over them, comfortable like a blanket, and basks in the safety of their room. “Would you say yes?” He says, after some time has passed. He should feel more nervous, but instead all he feels is loved.

Hubert twists to look up at him, “I believe I would.”

Ferdinand smiles and leans down to kiss Hubert, soft and gentle. “I will take that under advisement,” he says, and kisses him once more.

**Author's Note:**

> stan edelgard and come talk to me on tumblr @edelgardlesbians


End file.
